Tuesday, February 11, 2014

PostHeaderIcon Jenn: Chicken Soup

This week I watched my sister-in-law bury her father.  He wasn't someone I knew well.  I knew him well enough to say he was a lovely man who emigrated to this country 40+ years ago in search of something better.  I think he found it.  Because he had the courage to flee adversity, his daughter is part of our family - and so by extension - is he. His death caused me to reflect on the many friends, relatives and others who have passed this year.  There have been quite a few.

Death is only hard on those who are left behind - or so that is my spiritual belief - that death releases us into a new existence that is better than any we have ever known.  That we are reunited with those gone before us as we wait for loved ones who will eventually join us.

Wakes are something that make me very uncomfortable.  The thought of all those people - or maybe only a few - milling about and discussing my demise - that's not a comforting thought at all.  Looking at me all made up and stretched out on satin and commenting on how well and natural I look - yeah well, that's not for me.

I told my children this week that whether I live another 50 years or 5 days, I don't want a wake.  I want to be whisked directly to church.  A few prayers, a nice homily, bury or cremate me - their choice and then throw a lovely party at the house in memory of me.  Serve some champagne, get a little sloppy - have a good time.  Give a toast to me and instead of remarking how good I look all laid out - talk about the happy times - the good memories and the funny stories and how much they loved my Chicken Soup.


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