I daydream about my funeral a lot. I live out these daydreams of my death over and over in my mind because they bring me peace. The peace of no longer existing while the Earth continues to spin. It gives me a strange peace of mind.
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I don’t want anyone to “celebrate” my meaningless life and death.
I’d rather some stranger take my corpse and burry my corpse in a hole somewhere nobody will ever go.
Or burn my corpse and throw them over some garbage disposal site.
You’ve a lot of pride in life if you even want a funeral, imo.
Pride?? What’s that??????
I hate life. In fact, I’d rather **** over my life.
Then again, guess the idea of “celebrating” my death sounds better than celebrating life.
Throw the ashes*
I think I get your meaning. A funeral symbolizes your absence from the world, so it’s not “celebrating” or “mourning” that matters. It’s the idea that the world and the people you knew will carry on after your existence has ended. A brief spectacle to mark your passing and then life as usual.
YES! SOMEONE ELSE GETS IT!
There are those, maybe Buddhists, who meditate a lot on death and maybe their funeral. It supposedly helps to live if you can know or imagine death. Hasn’t worked for me, but maybe I’m not doing it right?
Cheapest cremation I could find, put my ashes in a cardboard box, (also cheapest one available), and incorrect contact information for relatives, so my ashes sit on a shelf tagged “Unable to contact family” for five years then get tossed. That’s my funeral reality. I fantasize about dying in the ocean, washing up on a shore someday mostly rotted with one eyeball dangling loose and smelling really bad, scaring the piss out of an old couple strolling for seashells.
Ah! Someone gets it!
I really want a funeral, and I really want people to know I’ve died. I’m not sure why though. I’ve spent my entire adult life struggling to maintain normality, and my friends and family have felt the full visceral burden of this struggle. I feel like my death and subsequent funeral would symbolize the end to a life of madness and struggle. On some level it is a way for my family to close the door on the depressing burden of interacting with me. They would get to say goodbye to the looks of pity, the hopelessness, the inability to change the course of my mental state and direction in life, they could finally breathe easy, and put the tragic story of their dysfunctional son to sleep.