I just finished reading a fabulous book entitled Stiff: The Curious Lives Of Human Cadavers by Mary Roach. It discusses the interesting and curious history of the use of cadavers in science. This topic runs that gamut from anatomy classes to medicinal cannibalism, which I’m sure you can imagine makes for a very interesting read. I must admit, though, the topic definitely made me think on what my own wishes would be for my body when I die, so I thought I should lay them out here. Because, you know, blog entries are as good as living wills, right?

Of the many options available, the least intriguing to me is to be the victim of medicinal cannibalism. Fortunately, it doesn’t sound like there’s an awful lot of that going around these days. But still, allow me to get that one out of the way first and foremost. I do not want to be eaten, even if it would cure someone’s dropsy.

I imagine that many would be surprised at the fact that I don’t put traditional burial far beyond cannibalism as distasteful ways to dispose of my corpse. I have never understood graveyards, though I certainly enjoy jogging through them. The practical side of “well, we need to put the body somewhere” obviously makes sense, and barring other options available that makes some sense. But the options are there, so that leaves only what I guess I would call the curious social aspect of burial. I do not want my loved ones coming to a plot of land to remember me. I do not want them clearing away detritus from the plot, leaving flowers and lanterns and weird ceramic things to keep me company, or even standing about having a one-sided conversation with me. Believe me, I’ve had my share of one-sided conversations with family and the last thing I need is to suffer through them for all eternity.

More importantly, I really don’t like the idea of wasting all that space for little old me. It just strikes me as ridiculous to have a chunk of earth with me in it and only me for the next thousand years. After forty years, how many people are actually going to care? Definitely, burial is not for me.

Cremation was for a long time my favorite plan. The idea of having my ashes lovingly scattered a la The Big Lebowski or slowly sifted into the sandwiches of my enemies always had a certain folksy charm. But I have to say that it too seems wasteful. I am a creature of the earth, so why would I burn off my chemicals rather than return them to the earth or do something cool with them? Cremains are not particularly nutrient-rich, and scattering me on a rose garden accomplishes nothing more than making flowers dusty for a time.

And then there’s the idea of plastination. It sounds fun, to be a permanent non-biodegradable me. As I read the description of the process and the end result, it brought many a giggle to my face, but the kicker for me was the notion that my body would last in that state for at least a thousand years. I’m not that vain. A thousand years of me taking up space? Someone would have to dust me for generations to come, and that hardly seems fair. Nope, plastination just isn’t for me.

My number two choice would definitely be human composting. The fine folks at Promessa have just a cool idea for composting. It sounds a little gruesome at times in the preparation phase, but the idea of returning your nutrients to the earth has a sweet and wholesome appeal. I don’t know how readily available the process will be when I die, but if it’s possible then this would be a perfect fallback for dealing with my body.

But the best of all possible worlds is donating my body to science. I’m fine with being a cadaver in an anatomy class. I’m fine with having my various organs donated to people who need them. I’m even fine with being a part of some bizarre crash test or decomposition study. So long as lives are bettered by my death, the details seem unimportant. To me, that’s a real legacy, even if we never know in advance what is slated to happen to us.

And now, of course, comes the importance of the other side of my being dead. The grieving process.

I am, first and foremost, an atheist. As such, I do not long for some morbid priest standing in front of a group of crying people talking about how I was one of God’s creatures, doing His great work. I’m not. I also don’t want a bunch of people weeping and carrying on. I’ve always liked the concept of the Irish wake, where people laugh and remember all the good things about me. That shouldn’t take long.

What I want for a ceremony, should there be people who want to say their goodbyes, would be a really good party. I’m 36 years old now, and while the party I’d like when I’m 80 is likely to be quite different in nature, I will no doubt have people around me who know what I mean when I say I want a party. If it was to happen today, I’d want something very much like what we did for my friend Ryan. We started off in a theater, where we watched a presentation made up of both stills and video of Ryan, and then we headed to one of the pubs he frequented and put on a show featuring bands he’d played with and friends who wanted to give him that final tribute. It was a tremendously fun way to say our goodbyes. That’s the sort of thing I’d want. Bands I like, friends I like, beer, and laughter.

So there you go. That’s what I want to see happen to the ole’ skin-bag when finally I shuffle off this mortal coil. Hopefully it won’t be any time soon, but since I can’t control that side of things, I can at least make it known how I’d like to be disposed of and remembered. And now, with that annoying Time Of Your Life song by Green Day stuck in my head, I shall sign off.

Oh, and as a final note, the atheist in me would like to ask that nobody baptise me after I’m dead. I would consider that an insult, so please, just don’t do it.

Jim