as small as a world and as large as alone

8:27pm July 19, 2014

My father has picked out his cemetery plot and his coffin.  The cemetery is a tiny, beautiful cemetery in the middle of the woods.  My father said it was so peaceful that he didn’t want to leave.  I am so glad for that, because if he says that now, then he won’t mind his body being there forever.  He chose a beautiful plain pine box as his coffin, which suits him perfectly.

I’m honestly thrilled for him that he has been able to make these choices for himself.  Not everyone has the time to put their affairs in order, to find the perfect resting place, to design it all how they want it to be.  Often relatives are left guessing, or worse, ignoring the person’s wishes.  

If it were me, knowing all this in advance would make me feel much better about dying.  My living will has a rather elaborate section on funeral arrangements for that reason.

My first wish is to be composted (like the Swedish technology in the book Stiff) and put under the Mother Tree, or whatever daughter trees are nearest it if it is gone.  Barring that, cremation with the ashes being buried or spread around the Mother Tree or whatever daughter trees… etc.  Whatever it is, at least part of my remains have to go back to the central location of my spiritual life, even if it means going up there and sprinkling a bit of ashes without anyone knowing.  At minimum my ashes or compost remains belong in that same forest.  I want part of me to become a redwood tree, I want to mix with the soil and become sorrel and mycelium and microbes and slugs.

And I understand why my dad wants to be buried in a tiny forest cemetery in the middle of nowhere in a pine box.  For the exact same reasons.  Same idea, different execution, and I love him for it, I love him so much it hurts.

11 notes