I read the obits every day. They're the most meaningful part of the newspaper. I even read the obits in my hometown newspaper (Sault Ste. Marie) just in case I see the name of an old high school pal. It happened a couple of years ago. Leonard Lidstone died a young man and I knew Leonard very well when I was a young impressionable kid. I felt sad as I reflected on our happy boyhood times together. I smoked my first cigarette with Leonard and envied the fact he had facial hair (peach fuzz) before me.
I expect to be around for some time but I am planning to write my own obituary. I've been planning this for some time. I
told my family that I have certain expectations after death. Spare no expense with the obit... every newspaper, lots of photos and content. They can even make stuff up if they want. I won't care. I'll be dead.
I can never figure out why we're buried in only one place. I spent the first 18 years of my life with the Fremlin clan in Northern Ontario so I figure part of me should be buried in the quaint little country cemetary near Pumpkin Point Road just outside the Soo. The rest of me can reside here in Toronto. My death can be mourned in many places by many people.
Oh, and this is important too. No cremation for me. I've read enough murder mysteries to know many crimes were solved after a body was dug up. Science being what it is today, I know that more tests could reveal an unexpected cause of death. Don't laugh. I've pissed off a lot of very smart people. If there's a poison that is difficult to trace, they will know about it.
I've read a couple of great books on this subject, one by the late Christopher Hitchens (Mortality) and the other by a very alive Julian Barnes (Nothing To Be Frightened Of). Both men are my age and both write eloquently about this aging (dying) thing.