If I die, ant funeral that I'm the guest of honour in will NOT be a religious-based one

My stepmom plans to have her ashes made into clay skipping stones, and let each of the grandkids have a contest to see who can get Grandma to skip the farthest down at the lake.

Hopefully not for awhile yet ;)
 
My stepmom plans to have her ashes made into clay skipping stones, and let each of the grandkids have a contest to see who can get Grandma to skip the farthest down at the lake.

Hopefully not for awhile yet ;)

That's pretty cool.

It reminds me of what my better half tells me what she will do with my remains: http://www.lifegem.com/
 
As long as nobody puts my ashes into an hour glass...I do enough running as it is...
 
I went to a funeral last year of someone I'd barely met as a representative of my bipolar support group. The eulogy made my skin crawl just a tetch.

The preacher divided the eulogy into two parts - before and after the diagnosis. He was the tow-headed kid who caught frogs and chased the girls with them on the schoolyard, that sort of thing. The second half of the eulogy was after the mood disorder kicked in, and it was basically a checklist of his symptoms and how annoying and ineffectual he was. He wouldn't take his meds, he dropped out of college, his wife left him. The preacher even stooped to yelling at him from beyond the grave. "Focus was an issue!"

It wasn't hard for me to read between the lines and unearth a really fascinating guy - creative, fun, bright, loved his wife and fathered a beautiful little boy. I sincerely hope his family didn't write that eulogy. It exemplified everything I've dedicated my life to countering - this attitude of seeing people solely in terms of the diagnostic label slapped on their forehead. He died at 28 when his car hit a patch of ice and went into a tree, completely unrelated to bipolar. Give him a rest, and some respect. Now I'm thinking of writing my own eulogy.
 
He died at 28 when his car hit a patch of ice and went into a tree, completely unrelated to bipolar. Give him a rest, and some respect. Now I'm thinking of writing my own eulogy.

Kinda flies in the face of "pay your respects doesn't it. Not only to him, but to everyone who was there. If his wife was there (and didn't write that) I would imagine she would have been mortified listening to that... I know I would be.
 
I gotta go with the Viking funeral too.
Have a big bonfire at the beach, eat steaks, drink scotch, put my body on a viking ship, set it on fire, push it out into the lake, watch it burn and sink, then eat more steak and drink more scotch. Simple.
 
I've actually pre-donated my body to a medical school (http://www.uth.tmc.edu/nba/willedbody/). They'll slice and dice on me and learn things, then they will cremate me and turn me into fertilizer.

Although, I'm rethinking it. That Viking funeral is starting to sound more and more attractive. :lol:
 
If I get my way:
 

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Ideally I would like to be buried beneath a tree with one of my swords and dressed for the street (C18th Japanese street that is :D), just in case there is something on the other side. After all, I've taught myself not to be a victim in this life and I'm darned well not going to be one if there is a next :lol:.

But as long as I go back to the earth from which I am made and get to help something else grow and live then I will be a happy departed spirit.
 
I gotta go with the Viking funeral too.
Have a big bonfire at the beach, eat steaks, drink scotch, put my body on a viking ship, set it on fire, push it out into the lake, watch it burn and sink, then eat more steak and drink more scotch. Simple.

Well seriously... how else do you expect to get to Valhalla? (assuming, of course, that you die a glorious death in battle like the gods intended!) ;)
 
We made a flower garden on the spot where my pets were buried. It makes me happy that every year the little flowers bloom and each little flower is a piece of them. :) Not a sad place at all. A pretty cheerful place with flowers each summer.

that's what I'd like my body to do too. Help the pretty plants grow.
 
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