Remembering Loved Ones with Mulch and Divots
“When I die I don’t want to be buried, but I don’t want to be cremated either,” wrote the late George Carlin in Napalm and Silly Putty. “I want to be blown up. Put me on a pile of explosives and blow me up. Or throw my body from a helicopter. That would be fun. One stipulation: wherever I land, you have to leave me there. Even if it’s the mayor’s lawn. Just let me lie there. But keep the dogs away.”
I once read a New York mobster’s last will and testament. It opened with a lengthy description of his mausoleum. He was particular about the size, materials, design, and so on. I suspect he agonized more over the preservation of his remains than the disposition of his assets.
Humans have long obsessed about the after-death. Not life-after-death, which is different, but death and its initial complication: how to dispose of the remains. From pyramids to crematoriums, we have imagined numerous options for our final planting place.
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