After the whole Terry Shiavo fiasco, I made sure my wife knew my wishes explicitly. However, it occurs to me there’s always a chance we could die together, then I’d be screwed.
It’s more likely than you think. For example, a song from Rock Band might come up in the rotation and, overcome with the need to put on an impromptu air concert, we drive off a cliff.
Alternately, the video driver board in our Doctor Who pinball machine might burst into flames right when Mary’s about to beat my high score. She’d refuse to flee the growing flames, and I’d refuse to leave, lest she claim she broke it, but the evidence had been immolated.
So it is I’m expressing my wishes to you, the world. If one of you hears about my lifeless corpse being animated by ghoulish conservatives, please bring this to the attention of the authorities.
Understand that I love life. I have so much to do, I’d hate to leave early, if at all. It breaks my heart to know that one day there will be everyday wonders that I never could have imagined. To have missed that will be such a shame.
Still, one of the most important lessons you can learn in life is when to quit. The point at which I’m eating through a tube in my stomach is probably a good one to exit.
I don’t love life merely for living’s sake. It’s the quality of life that’s important. When I can’t live without pain, enjoy good food and drink, have a deep conversation with my friends, or laugh at my wife’s jokes, it’s time to go.
The only catch is that I really don’t relish the thought of starving to death. That’s no way for a man to die. An overdose of morphine is much more my cup of tea. If someone has to wheel my vegetative ass to Oregon to make that happen, you have my blessing, and my thanks.
Once that nasty business is taken care of, the real fun begins. I don’t want a funeral, and I don’t want to be buried. I used to always want my ashes scattered in the Sea of Japan, where I could rejoin my ancestors. Now, I don’t know. If things keep going as they are I may well find my peace in Madagascar. I leave it to my survivors to make that decision.
No, when I’m gone, I want to have a roast. Nothing amuses me more than the thought of having all those who knew me getting together and telling stories about what a jerk I was. The only thing that should make my friends cry is laughing too hard.
If Mary dies first, I’ll also have a roast. Maybe a nice pork loin or a standing rib roast. I’ll sit down to eat in front of a camera, so I can tape the whole thing for Crying While Eating. I’ll know Mary would have wanted it that way.
Addenda 
Robert Cooper over at Screaming Penguin raises several good points. First, he points out that a person in a persistent vegetative state does not die of starvation, but from dehydration, and that it’s relatively painless. I concede the point, but my wishes stand. If I can’t die heroically, I want to die as if I were going to sleep. Morphine, people. Morphine.
Second, he points out that cremation is hard on the environment. I’m aware of this, which is one reluctance, the second being that my corpse isn’t being very useful. As such, I’d like to expand on the subject of disposing of my corpse, such that the people faced with that task can use their best judgment.
In “Stiff,” Mary Roach’s book on the subject, she discusses a new alternative to cremation that is easier on the environment. If I recall, it’s more of a desiccation procedure. If that’s available, all the better. If not, cremation remains the way of my people. I’m happy to join my ancestors in this final act of selfishness.
My primary concern is not the environment, or even my own will. I don’t want to be burden on my loved ones. If I thought my family would be comfortable with me donating my body to science, I’d give it more serious consideration. Certainly, I’ll donate my organs, but I don’t want my wife to think my final resting place is a body farm in Tennessee. Sorry, science.
Robert suggests, “being buried in a forested area (or with the provision that a tree be planted above you) in a simple wood or cardboard box.” That’s a great idea, but difficult to implement. First, you can’t just bury a body just anywhere, and I wouldn’t want to be buried just anywhere.
If I had my druthers, more than anything else, I would love to be buried at the base of a tamarind tree in the Berenty reserve, where Alison Jolly began our modern understanding of lemurs. There would be, to my mind, no better way to put my mortal leavings to good use.
The problem is how. I know from personal experience that transporting a body is a tremendous, expensive pain in the ass, and requires either cremation or embalming — which I am absolutely, adamantly opposed to. If I happened to die in Madagascar, fantastic. If not, ashes it is.
On a not unrelated note, I’ve been thinking about what I would do if I were diagnosed with cancer or some other terminal illness. I’m not against “western medicine,” but I’m also not inclined to live two miserable years in a losing fight. If I have a type of cancer with a good chance of recovery, then bring on the surgery, chemotherapy, and radiation.
If, however, I’m likely to die anyway, forget about it. I’ll continue to live a good life as long as I can, say my good-byes, and take my morphine. In such a case, I might choose to spend my last days in Madagascar anyway. In light of the tamarind tree idea, all the better.
Memo to self: make sure you keep enough money in savings to fly two people to Madagascar on short notice. At least, I hope it would be two people. When I take my final rest, there’s no place I’d rather be than in my wife’s arms, my head between her breasts, her face the last thing I ever see.
Readers had their own thoughts on the subject:
Dan Weeks
Mike, you’re a man after my own heart. I made sure a few years ago before going galavanting on the far side of the world my family and friends knew my wishes. Me personally I want to have an Irish wake. Party, music, drinking, and cursing my name. It’ll be a hell of a time.
I’m also with you on the no burial, science then ashes for me.
Mike, you’re a man after my own heart. I made sure a few years ago before going galavanting on the far side of the world my family and friends knew my wishes. Me personally I want to have an Irish wake. Party, music, drinking, and cursing my name. It’ll be a hell of a time.
I’m also with you on the no burial, science then ashes for me.
Matt Parcher
Reading the caption, I half-thought Mary had actually passed away...
Reading the caption, I half-thought Mary had actually passed away...
djlemur
I’m not dead yet! I’m getting better...I feel fine!
I’m not dead yet! I’m getting better...I feel fine!
Ash ponders
I’ve always wanted to be burned on a ship, but lately animatronic taxidermy has got my interest.
I’ve always wanted to be burned on a ship, but lately animatronic taxidermy has got my interest.
Jason Orban
That makes me want to live my life to the fullest, in a depressing way.
That makes me want to live my life to the fullest, in a depressing way.
flydadfly
you could always have your ashes (naturally you’d have to be cremated first) compressed into a gemstone, which mary could have mounted in a ring, or perhaps a pendant...that way you’d still be with her, and she’d have something shiny to look at!
you could always have your ashes (naturally you’d have to be cremated first) compressed into a gemstone, which mary could have mounted in a ring, or perhaps a pendant...that way you’d still be with her, and she’d have something shiny to look at!
What he’s eating: a roast. What he’s crying about: wife died.
Monday, March 10, 2008
Living Will
