This feels like a weird topic, but maybe it’s not. Perhaps we just don’t talk about death enough in polite society.
Q (from my best friend): Has the betrayal changed your estate planning?
A: * hurries to revise will and write out directions about last wishes
I had always assumed that Handsome and I would be buried together. That is, if we were to be buried at all. Cremation has long been my personal game plan.
Then DDays (plural) came and I realized that -like Beyoncé – my version of Heaven is a love without betrayal. Suddenly, spending eternity next to the source of my trauma seemed a lot less appealing. So, I told anyone I thought might survive me that I wanted to be cremated and scattered in the Atlantic Ocean.
Then, ever slowly, Handsome and I started to heal. Getting tossed in the ocean no longer seemed as appealing. Add on the pandemic, and figuring out my last wishes seemed more urgent somehow. One day, in a stack of mail at our summer house I received a postcard ad for a nearby cemetery. Not a shiny new place sandwiched between highways, but a lovely and historic cemetery close to the beach dating back to some of the earliest families to arrive in America, less than a mile down the road from our summer home. It turns out that they were opening a small section for the purchase of plots. It seemed so perfect.
Unfortunately, when I raised it with Handsome he was utterly nonplussed. I thought he might find some measure of reconnection in my renewed suggestion that we be buried together. Nah. If nothing else, I thought he might appreciate the practicality of simply not having to worry about this later on. Nope. He literally can’t tell me what STATE he would like his ashes scattered or buried in. No clue. Just… anywhere but the place that made my heart happy at the thought of being there forever.
What to do? I’m afraid if I leave it to Handsome I’ll end up somewhere I really don’t want to be. Or stuck on a shelf or in a closet.
Friends, I’m buying 4 plots in the cemetery. That’s enough room for me and 7 other cremated peeps. Maybe he’ll decide to join me. Maybe one or both of my kids will eventually want a spot. Or, worst case, I’ll be on my own with only the neighboring sea captains and Mayflower descendants for company. That’s okay too. Honest.
I know we think of self-care as being something we do for our health or well being in this life, but planning for my eternal rest seems equally beneficial. It’s one less worry for me. It’s not left up to chance or to Handsome’s questionable judgment. I hope like hell that I won’t have to make use of the plots for a long, long time. Whenever my time comes though, I’ll be at peace due to decisions I’m making now.
I started writing this post a few weeks ago and last week my closest work colleague suddenly lost her husband. He was 53 and it was utterly unexpected. I’m shaken by the loss but it reminds me that we aren’t guaranteed our tomorrows. Yes, I hope to live 40ish more years but, if I don’t, I want my loved ones to have no doubt about what I wanted. Could everyone ignore my wishes and do what they want anyway? Sure. You can’t control people from the grave, but I’m hopeful that my loved ones will honor my wishes even if they choose to do something different for themselves.