Where do we go when we die? It’s a question that has plagued humanity forever. I’m not religious but, I’m pretty sure that anybody who disrespects the Oxford comma is going to hell. And for those who put pineapple on their pizza, heaven awaits you.
Some argue that humanity began when we started burying each other. It showed a level of compassion that differentiated us from animals. No other animal puts aside precious time and resources to bury their kind. Humanity began at a funeral.
“When I die, bury me inside the Gucci Stooore!” - 2 Chainz
We also end at a funeral. We walk millions of feet in different directions for a lifetime just to end up six feet under. Most morgues are underground. Zombies rise from the dead. Even in the most abhorrent acts of war, the killers will throw their enemies’ dead bodies into a huge pit.
Some of us go in “a box.” Some of us pick the box we want to go in. I've seen caskets that look like the inside of a 1970s Cadillac. None of those caskets are biodegradable and this method of, “going,” has never sat well in my tree-hugging brain. Cremations use fossil fuels to turn bodies into ash. It's better than a casket but, I didn't need gas to enter this world, so why do I need it on the way out? According to CNN, cremations account for 1.74 billion pounds of carbon dioxide emissions each year in the US.
“My life is played out like a Jheri curl, I’m ready to die!” - The Notorious B.I.G.
I find cremations to be weird and pointless. Giving my remains to friends and family so they can have a part of me in their house is creepy and egomaniacal. The ghost of me would whisper to my friends, “Do the ashes of Daniel really bring you joy?” I’ve always wanted to be a Marie Kondo ghost.
The cool new thing in the funeral world is companies that will compost you. That’s how I want to go out. Return my biological nutrients to the soil where they belong. I, very briefly, had a compost company (that’s a story for another time). It would be funny that a compost company would be my ultimate demise. I currently use Recycled City, which is a local compost company in Phoenix.
I imagine that one day I won’t wake up and my girlfriend will throw me in the compost bin alongside the egg shells, orange peels, and inedible onion layers.
“And If I die, let it be, but when they come for me, bury me a G” - 2pac
I don't think either she or my Mom would treat my departure with such casualness.
But I also don't want too much pomp and circumstance. Imagine, at my celebration of life, 120 days after I first entered the compost bin, my friends and family throw a garden party using my soil, or really, me, to nurture house plants.
Now imagine my aunt takes a house plant home and it dies. It would be like I've died twice. Nobody needs to die that many times.
I'd rather my girlfriend take my soil to the nearest national park and throw me in the air like LeBron James throws chalk before the game.
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