I remember picking out music for my aunt's funeral. It sucked. I don't remember what we played, and I don't remember what we played at my Papaw's either. I remember the bell ringing (he was a fireman) and how shiny it was. I remember that was the first time my parent's saw the tattoo below my ankle bone, and my hair was eggplant. No, really, a real eggplant.
I'm afraid of dying, but not death. It's the act of dying that gets me. I don't want to suffer, and I'm going to be pissed off about leaving this Earth. I will miss life, but the after death doesn't really scare me that much. I'm just moving on, ya know.
My husband and I can't agree on a cemetery to be buried in. My peeps are out in the country on top of a beautiful hilltop that faces the mountains. His are in town near our historic district. I want to be out there where it's peaceful and I can rest. I figure (hopefully) I'll be tired from all the living by then, so I want some peace and quiet. Still, I can't imagine being separate places. Maybe we should start our own tradition somewhere else...
I've tried to have this discussion with my Better Half, but he always tells me I'm morbid. So, it's up to ya'll to make sure this gets played when I kick it if he should fail. Somebody just give him the heads up, ok?
This is my funeral song. Grateful Dead's Brokedown Palace. I love it.