When my husband’s aunt died, there were tons of words from the funeral director who didn’t know her. Apparently, the children (ages 45-60) couldn’t come up with much good about her so he kind of winged it, talking about the wonderful helpmate and mother she’d been. Everyone was kind of..’huh? okaaaay’.
Sad, I thought. I told my family that when I die, I want a celebration of my life, no dark colors but bright purple and red and yellow and blue, tons of gorgeous bright flowers, my favorite songs and poems, lots of nutty photographs and nothing but laughter, good memories, lots of talk and good food.
Mrs Weya has agreed to give me a send-off in a pyre in the NW corner of our property.
This after they take any parts of me that are still any good to anyone else.
With all the painkillers, muscle relaxants, and anti-inflammatory stuff (arthritis in the spine and most of the other joints), there won’t be much to work with, but if it’ll help someone, use it...I won’t need it.