BLEARGH! No viewing. Viewing gross. Ew ew ew.

Some of us might want one last chance to see you.....!

Some of us might want one last chance to see you.....!

Then you'd better get your ass to where ever I happen to be before I die.

Besides, I don't want people to remember me all pasty faced and bad make-up.

This is why no one gets to sleep over at my house.

Wow. A Times reporter was in the private jet that was hit by a 747 (which crashed) over Brazil:

Yikes!

My one grandfather was cremated, and we still had a funeral -- no viewing. I guess technically it was a memorial Mass. For my other grandfather, we did have a wake with his body there, and I was surprised at how much I appreciated it.

This is why no one gets to sleep over at my house.

Because you return to the grave every night? Or is it the make-up thing?

ugh, I hate an open casket. disturbing for me.

ION - I AM SO FAR BEHIND AT WORK I DO NOT EVEN KNOW!

My sister played Ashokan Farewell at my mom's funeral and even thinking of it just wrecks me. (This: [link] if you're not familiar with it.)

I like the open casket. I mean, not like like. But it's grounding for me in a way that I think is similar to what Nilly was saying about the shroud.

I think the shroud would be hard to look at, but definitely grounding, too. Open caskets I find kind of disturbing because although I feel like I *need* that proof, the body is always so strange-looking. The makeup and the falsely relaxed pose always freak me out.

Wow. A Times reporter was in the private jet that was hit by a 747 (which crashed) over Brazil:

What freaks me out is he's their business travel columnist (mostly flying)-- I think with an experience like that I would be loath to keep writing about plane travel.

I think I understand the open casket notion, in terms of closure, but I've never felt 'better', if you will, for having seen the body. Given my desire to be remembered (if at all) for my life, rather than my death, I would not go that way.

And the funereal industry, in general, really bothers me.

My father chose a $4000 pink casket (with roses) for my stepmother...who I'm sure never even saw a picture of it. He chose the same for himself. Did I mention the pink roses? I couldn't do it. I chose a dignified, denim number that seemed to reflect the workshirts I remember him wearing all the time. They didn't tell me how much it cost until later. $700.

My stepsister had a fit. All I could say was, ya know? If he's going to haunt anyone, it will be ME. And I can take it.

Funny how I've never heard a peep outta him.

When I think about the two of them, sealed up in a wall in some mausoleum no one will ever visit, I shake my head at the incredible waste.

I'm giving my body to science. I'll be done with it--I hope it will be of some use to others. I'd like there to be a memorial service of some kind, but nothing too schmancy.