When my grandma’s husband died, the plan was to cremate him. My mother was helping out and the funeral director offered her a casket, explaining that even cremated folks get caskets. She asked what he was going to do with the casket, and he said that it would be with the body when it went into the crematorium.
He offered her a $2000 casket. My mom, being who she is, cussed and said she wasn’t literally burning $2000 with PawPaw. She asked for the cheapest option and he came down to about $800. She, again, cussed and asked, “Don’t you have a box or something?” It turns out that they indeed had a $25 box that could be used.
So, when I die, my family had better buy that $25 box. I don’t want any money thrown towards my cold, dead corpse, only towards the living. The most I would like, is to be cremated and let go in the mountains of Alabama on a windy day. I don’t want any big hullaballoos—just a small family thing with lots, lots, lots of music and stories. Regardless of what happens, I plan NOT to go gently into that good night.