I don’t want to be embalmed and buried in a box. I don’t want to be buried at sea. Neither do I want to be cremated, my ashes scattered to the four winds or stored in an urn on the mantel.
No, I want to be preserved like a spicy Slim Jim. I want to be marinated in salt, sodium nitrite and a secret blend of spices that will leave me dark red, desiccated and with a shelf life that needs no expiration date. Instead of a shroud or coffin, I want to be sealed in a convenient single serving wrapper. At my viewing, any who choose to do so are more than welcome to snap into me. Tear into the spice, as it were.
…a lumberjack! Leaping from tree to tree as it floats down the mighty rivers of British Columbia! With my best girl by my side! The larch! The…no, hang on, I’ve gotten distracted.
I’d either like to be doing something heroic or at least worthwhile, or I’d like to have done something heroic or at least worthwhile. Also, I’d like to be rich, if only to leave my family financially secure.
As for bodily disposal: harvest me for parts and cremate the rest.
Afterlife-wise: I dunno. I’m expecting oblivion, so if that’s wrong I’m hoping for something at least reasonably pleasant.
Fun answer? With The Doctor, so he can go back in time and save me.
Serious answer – When I physically die? Honestly, I’m asthmatic, and the idea of not being able to take that final breath scares the crap out of me. I’d like to miss out on that, and any fear.
In my sleep, very old, at home, but with someone looking after me so the cats don’t have to eat me.
I plan to donate my body to med school, if possible. I’m going to medical school one way or another.
If that doesn’t pan out, I kind of like the idea of the tree pod. Though with the meds I take, the tree might die.
My family has a running joke that we want to be reincarnated as one of our cats. They really have the life (I say, as one is sleeping on my feet, the other is getting into “her” kitchen cabinet, and the third is snoozing on his blankie.)