To Dust

One of my mom’s dear friends died recently. The service was streamed online, Facebook I think.

Social media death …

It was interesting timing, since I have been thinking about my final repose. I have no one to take care of those sorts of things, being an only child whose son has his own challenges. I decided a while ago that I would do my best to ensure my arrangements were handled.

I recently joined the Recompose family (if you haven’t heard of it, pop the name into your favorite search engine). I may have indicated it before, but I don’t want any fanfare. After all, we are here for a moment and gone. The expense of funerals, the chemical waste of burial or the environmental damage of cremation is just too much to think about, even in the hereafter. The physical shell turns to dust anyway, so why not make it so?

I will help nourish a forest, in the end. That pleases me.

There will be no marker, beyond the grassy plains and brush that grow.

I do hope to be around for many more years, but one never knows.

Regardless, I don’t want anyone to think about any of me when I’m gone. I mean, memories are memories and they should be lively ones. People should think about how I made them laugh, or angered them, or made them wonder: they shouldn’t think of me, laying on a slab or in a box with not an ounce of breath in me. I set my social media to disappear when I do. I want to just be … in the wind.

Look to the blue sky, to the fluttering leaves, and see me there.

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