On Death...

**This is a work in progress**

When I die, don't go cheap on me.

Don't worry. I don't even want a casket. They sell them at some Costco locations. They are there by the food counter, nestled in among the kiosks selling carpeting, chandeliers, and cheap travel tickets. People must figure that since they can save on paper cups, they can probably save on a coffin. Who buys a coffin at Costco? Do they nip out the day dear old Ma dies and order the Lady of Guadalupe Casket made out of 18 Gauge Steel with expedited shipping (they definitely want the expedited shipping for obvious reasons) for $1,299.99? Do they know that the coffin comes with all sorts of labels which mention that being buried in a box made out of steel doesn't mean the whole thing won't eventually become part of the earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust? The disclaimer reads, "THERE IS NO SCIENTIFIC OR OTHER EVIDENCE THAT ANY CASKET WITH A SEALING DEVICE WILL PRESERVE HUMAN REMAINS"

Nah, you go ahead and cremate me. I don't even want an urn; just let me swim with the dolphins, for real, no tourist attraction where they say "time to get out of the pool so the next group can have their turn". No, I'm with the dolphins forever.

Back at our house, the dog is dying and has to be put down. We've told the kids that it's our responsibility to make sure she doesn't suffer. We had four black dogs, all the same age. They have slowly gone to doggy Heaven. All three had to be put down in their old age but this one, Weasel, lived the longest. We had to dig four holes. My husband dug four holes as they all met their maker. Hud. Bear. Foxy. And now Weasel.

The kids understood. But not really. They understood that she was going to die but we shielded them from the reality of it, the physicalness of it. We waited till they went to stay with their grandparents and then we dug the hole. What am I saying? I watched through the window as my husband dug the hole. How horrible to dig the hole while the future inhabitant is still alive. Thank god she was too old and decrepit to make it to the back of the property to see what he was doing.

We took Weasel to the vet to be put to sleep with an overdose of anesthesia. I tried to be strong for Mike. She was his dog, his line to the past. She pre-dated out fourteen year relationship. She pre-dated me, pre-dated marriage, kidsour life together. I hate to see my husband cry. I hate to cry. But this racking sob came up in me in front of the vet and the silent vet tech just as the dog's heart stopped as if I was struck by the change in electricity in the room. I thought of that movie "21 Grams" in which they said that the human body weighs twenty-one grams less after death, suggesting the soul has a physical presence. Twenty-one grams is the weight of five nickels. After that movie, I put five nickels on my bureau and I sometimes pick them up and hold their weight in my hand.

And I made my husband cry by sobbing like that in the vet's office. Weasel was a good dog. She saw my husband through. Criss-crossed the country with him in a U-Haul.

We took Weasel's body home in the back of our red pick-up, a white sheet covering her. We lowered her into the three foot hole. It seemed very deep to me, I don't know how people dig all the way down to six feet. Six Feet Under, like the TV show. It's hard work. Mike remembered the terrible sound the dirt made hitting the first animal he ever buried--a cat--so he told me to carefully and softly add the first layer of dirt. No coffin, just a sheet so we didn't want to hear the heavy clods hitting her ribs.

I visited a funeral home in Sebastopol the day we buried the dog. It was pure happenstance that I visited that day. My writing class gave me an assignment to go somewhere I wouldn't normally go. A woman I knew from my kid's school was married to a mortician. So I called him up and made an appointment to visit. What do I know about funeral homes? The same day Mike's father went into the hospital. They say he won't leave there alive. I don't know if I'll ever see him again. You can't dig the hole before he dies. It's hard to even ask him what his funereal wishes are.

The funeral home in Sebastopol had a coffin selection room. I don't get it. What difference does it make? Who cares if the coffin has an ice-blue crepe lining, an embroidered Lady of Guadalupe head panel and gold-colored stationary handles with Lady of Guadalupe appliqus?

I saw the two giant furnaces where they cremate the bodies. It takes a couple of hours and then an hour or two to cool. Then an attendant sweeps the remains onto a metal tray. Being a neatnik, I wondered if they ever missed some by accident. They take the remains and put them into a large, metal Cuisanart-looking thing that they privately call "the Margarita-izer". This pulverizes the remains because people have a misconception that the remains are "ashes"--a term a mortician never uses. Morticians use the term "cremains". People aren't expecting Uncle Harry to be in recognizable pieces when they hire a boat to take them out to spread his cremains on Lake Tahoe. So the "the Margarita-izer" makes the pieces smaller but it's still not the ash people think it is.

Did you know that after you purchase a coffin, you have to purchase a coffin-sized vault to put the coffin in? This is to keep the ground from caving in over the grave site. If you look at old cemeteries, you'll see that the ground is wavy and uneven for this very reason. Now they've taken care of that problem and passed the cost on to you.

It costs approximately ten thousand dollars for the coffin and vault and headstone and cemetery plot; more, if you get fancy, want a funeral, want the little extras which I suppose include maintenance of the site, regular flowers, etc. Most people don't pre-pay for their funeral expenses. Maybe 20 - 25% do according to Kirk, my tour guide. And most of those are elderly people for whom death is an imaginable end. For the rest of us, we steadfastly practice denial. That ain't us.

In the corner of the coffin-selecting room hung a couple of pink dresses with faux pearl necklaces. Kirk said the casket company sells outfits but that he usually advises people to just go pick something out at Kohl's because it's cheaper. He said often the deceased comes from a rest home and so they don't have appropriate clothing for an open casket viewing. My mind wandered, imagining the trip to Kohl's to purchase an outfit for Great Aunt Gertrude whom you hardly knewWhat kind of dress would she have preferred? What was her size? And what about those missing twenty-one grams?

I noticed the casket supplier was named "Batesville" making everyone think of the Bates Motel from Psycho. It was written discreetly on the ends of the "demo" caskets. I decided to visit the Batesville Web site where I learned that even the funeral profession tries to be as trendy as MySpace.com.

Personalization is in. Batesville offers a "MemorySafe" drawer built into the casket and can be used to display cherished keepsakes during the viewing, or to secure private mementos and farewell messages.

They also offer "Commemorative panel designs" in the lid of the casket. The designs let you highlight your loved one's interests, hobbies or values. Choices include spiritual symbols, organizational emblems, favorite pastimes, or special relationships.

The "MemoryShelf" inside the casket allows families to put keepsakes and mementos on display during the visitation and viewing, providing, in the words of the company, "a simple, subtle way to highlight the interests and personality of your loved one."

Remember Costco where you can buy twenty-six portions of anything you want? Afterwards you can go to Mickey-D's and super-size your selection. So naturally, large-sized caskets are in greater demand today. Batesville's "Dimensions" line provides attractive selections for those families, and I quote, "seeking a more comfortable fit for their loved ones."

I am definitely back to wanting to swim with the dolphins. Throw a party, throw my cremains, but don't, above all, choose the Lady of Guadalupe Casket for me. I've taken my twenty-one grams and I'm gone.