I've had Death on my mind lately. Don't fret, i'm not going to get myself an emo fringe or start shakin' prayer-beads like maracas. But this week the morbid topic has definitely moved from the deep, dark crevasse in the back of my head (also home to thoughts of my lack of financial security, my secret Quarter-Pounder yearnings and Mathematics) to the sunny frontage of my consciousness.
There's been a death in the family and yesterday was the funeral, a sombre affair but as funerals typically go these days - a "celebration of life" rather than wailing old Italian nonnas.
Amidst my tears, it got me thinking about my own death (which i'm sure will happen one of these days, unless all the blood-drinking works out). My own funeral - how would I want it to play out?
I'm not going to lie, i'd like it to be a big deal. Call me selfish, but I would much prefer a full-on Tim Burtonesque grim-fest.
Musically, i've made a few executive decisions already. A nice n' Gothed-up "Death March" on the organs as they bring my coffin down the aisle, which then breaks into Gwen Stefani's "Hollaback Girl", with a full troop of Japanese marching girls whirling batons. To close, i'd like that Breakfast Club anthem, "Don't You Forget About Me" by Simple Minds. Ok, I was born in the 90's but i'd like to be sent off wearing acid-wash jeans to an 80's classic.
But then again, perhaps i'll have that no-nonsense attitude of my Pa when I reach his age. He didn't want a fuss. His service was simple, without spectacle and yet it evoked such emotion in us all. Good old Ken. His pure lack of bullshit will be something I'll truly miss.
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