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No, this is not a diatribe on the actual legal burial rights of Americans or the religious ceremonies associated with death. These “rights” are my own. What I want and how I want it done.

I know it may sound morbid, but when you’ve seen as many people die in a year as I have, it tends to make you think.  It tends to make you want to research, plan, and price your funeral. Why should I leave such decisions to my mourning family members? More importantly, why would I leave them with the costs associated with my death and burial?

What I want really want is a green burial.  I do not want to be embalmed, or trapped in a box.  I definitely don’t want to be cremated. Fire scares me. So I plan on being wrapped in an all-cotton shroud, placed in a hole and covered with earth. I want to be buried in a simple dress, preferably made of cotton, though all-natural biodegradable fabrics of any sort would suit me just fine too. I don’t even need a bra or panties. I figure, if there is such a thing as an afterlife, why would I want to be trussed up in lace and underwire? Why not go commando?

My family can plant a tree. No epitaph necessary. Just say a few words and play a few of my favorite tunes on my Mac. I don’t need to have a place to be remembered. I suppose I’ll make a good impression and solid memories with the people I am meant to be remembered by. They can always come lay out a blanket and have a lazy Sunday afternoon picnic under the branches of my tree.

You never know, I may even enjoy having the company and it would be better than a depressing old cemetery full of headstones announcing the demise of so many.

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