Quality of Death

On this day memorizing those mostly boys and men who were handed weapons and marched behind a banner and sang anthems to causes they didn’t understand then authorized by a nation to murder others either in a invasions or defense then be slaughtered, maimed and mutilated in what is called ‘battle’, I’ll write about death.

As a ever recurring topic and inevitable event, I was reminded today of the futility of life as one of my bunnies’ corpse lay next to the street as natures undertakers do their work.

I heard or read something recently about deciding your ‘quality of death’.

Are you ready? Got all your papers in order and your family have already labeled all your stuff that they want.

Have you decided your favorite clothing to wear in the box? How much make-up do you want? Which way do you part your hair? Will you need shoes?

I’m not sure how many of the guys who invaded France or Iraq had much thought of things that the families usually have to decided, thought the armed services are good at telling each soldier, sailor, airman (and airwoman) are given dog tags to assist those who pick up the remains identify the mess that modern weaponry can produce aimed at each other.

So other than being murdered in war or hit by a train or a meteor falling on your head suddenly, you might get a chance to pass over or bite the bullet or croak in a method you choose.

Do you want your family around? Suppose someone doesn’t show up? Will you have enough cognition to understand who is there and who isn’t considering you will probably be pumped full of drugs?

The question I remembered from this article was ‘What music would you like to listen to when you are dying?’ That is a tough choice.

If your last thought on earth is to the soundtrack of an Ed Sheeran tune or a Booker T. and the MG’s groove is up to you. You might not want to listen to any harp music if you feel you are good enough to get through the pearly gates because after they give you your wings you will have nothing but harp music through eternity, but if you think your elevator is pointed down you will be hearing some of the hottest music ever.

Like trying to pick our your favorite movie or book or child, what is your favorite song? If it is a dance number it might not be appropriate for your last breathe (or maybe it would be?). If you move on before the end of the bridge will it be an earworm stuck through eternity? If the song is a favorite because it reminds you of another, remember this is ‘your last song’. There is no encore.

Once you feel secure with all your paperwork and discussions with relatives and friends about your final solution, you might want to practice it before it is too late. Strap yourself down in a bed and put on a gag and blindfold, then cover your body with tubes and blinking lights and beeping sounds. Next bring in your loved ones and listen to what they’ve got to say about the soon to be departed. That must be Aunt Elsie’s perfume. Is that Uncle Tom who smells like nicotine and stale beer? Did someone turn up the heat? Oops! I think I just spoiled myself but it is OK because there are those who will clean up after I’m gone, just like at Normandy.

It is one of those crossroads you don’t have to decide which way to go.