[QUOTE=3acresandatruck]
I like it; kind of close to what I want. I checked into having a truck with a giant auger bit (like they use to set utility poles) drill a hole, drop me in (not upside down, please!) and plant a red oak on top of me, but I’m told I don’t have enough property to do that legally. So my current directions are to cremate me as cheaply as possible and rake my ashes into one of my flower beds.
For my death, I’d just like it not to hurt so much.
[/QUOTE]
When Lee Hayes, bass singer with The Weavers, died in the early 1980s, he was cremated and his ashes put into his compost pile.
[QUOTE=Max the Immortal]
If I ever tire of life, I’d like to bleed to death, through slit wrists. Preferably in my bed, after having said my goodbyes and made all necessary arrangements.
[/QUOTE]
And not beheaded by another Immortal?
I’ll probably die under a fallen pile of books. Hopefully, a quick death!
The pertinent sections of my Death Certificate should read as follows:
Cause of Death: Undetermined; however, the following items were somehow involved:
(1) Philips screwdriver
(2) Cordless Drill
(3) paper clips, 5 ea.
(4) copper wire, varying lengths 4" to 41"
(5) One 12 volt automotive battery
(6) Wire brush (presumed)
(7) Several Antique LPs
(8) Various assorted and sundry bits of plastic and metal.
(9) Various unknown improperly stored flammable substances
Manner of Death: Natural, cause Lucy was always screwing around with stuff he shouldn’t have been.
Disposition of Remains: Undetermined*
*Coroner’s Note: Since most of the materials in his workshop achieved escape velocity, it is calculated that, as of this date, whatever remains survived the blast (if any) are passing through the asteroid belt on a trajectory that will take them out of the solar system. It has not, also as of this date, been determined whose responsibility it is to fill in the hole where the workshop used to be.
I am not too picky, I just hope it is quick, minimal suffering and little pain and not messy. I would like it to happen sometime after my “grandkids to be” could actually remember me.
Of course my dream would be to pass away on the moon colony/space station with my useful life extended due to the positive effects of low gravity on old bones and organs.
My ideal death would be quick, painless, and “with my boots on” - at work, doing a job I believe in and love. Heart attack while arguing before the Supreme Court for the ACLU, maybe.
For all those who would like to die next to a loved one while in the middle of some shared activity, consider this:
My mother had ALS. She grew thinner and thinner as she lost all voluntary miscle function. My stepfather carried her up and down the stairs and fed her every day. They watched the news together each night.
One day they both went to sleep on the couch in front of the TV and only my stepfather woke up.
I can’t imagine what that must have been like. Or worse, I can and it freaks me out. Waking up to an inert, non-responsive body next to you? Calling 911 and the ambulance arrives? The cleaning afterward? Would you ever be able to sit in that spot again? My stepfather left my mother’s voice on the answering machine for a year and I hated calling there because of it.
I mean, it’s one thing to be on your deathbed and everyone knows it, but at least then there’s a special place from which the decedent can make the transition. (Funerals are for the survivors…)
Dying not in some special place but among the things you use ever day is worse IMHO. If my hypothetical wife died on the couch, I’m not sure I could ever live comfortable with that couch again…
I’ve seen too many people suffer horribly due to denial on the family’s part, ignorance, too aggressive medicine and sometime, most horrifically, all three.
I’d like to die painlessly after a decent lifespan. I’d like some forewarning, so I can say goodbye to those I love: I’ll tell them to not mourn me but remember the happy moments.
[QUOTE=Threadkiller]
Paraphrasing Jack Handy:
[/QUOTE]
Paraphrasing most of the Dope: Why’nt you read the whole thread before posting?
Quietly, in my armchair, to the ticking of a grandfather clock, at sunset, with a nearly-empty glass of good whisky at my elbow and an album of grandchild photos open on my lap.
Or if I’m terminally sick: In the woods on a freezing winter’s night, surrounded by the beauty of the crisp white snow, my last sensation the comfortable warmth that comes with hypothermia.
