Famous last words for fun last rites
January 2019
It seems like it’s all around us these days: This talk of death and dying.
People who pay attention to such things say that’s good and healthy and we should look at what’s ahead of us right in the eye.
The right to “die with dignity,” planning for personal comfort as your “golden years” run out, drawing up living wills, and figuring out who should get what you leave behind – they’re frequent topics on talk shows and in advice column.
There’s even talk about how to arrange to have yourself composted. That would give new meaning to the phrase, “pushing up daisies.”
Funeral homes have even taken to billboard advertising touting their ability to help your survivors navigate the sea of sorrow they presume will rise upon on your passing.
All this effort to grab the Grim Reaper by the hand is a far cry from the way things used to be. Through the 1950s into the 1990s, we had a collective aversion to talk about death. After the agonies of World Wars I and II, then Korea and Vietnam, we just didn’t want to contemplate more coffins. We bought the first war in Iraq because it was "bloodless," at least for us.
The hooded figure wielding the big scythe, never a welcome visitor, was a pariah in those days. Old age, the top edge of the slippery slope to eternity, was something to stave off as long as possible. If there was no such thing as the fountain of youth, at least we could get surgery, cosmetics, clothing and hair enhancements that made us look – or so we hoped – like we were beating the odds and avoiding the unavoidable.
That still, small voice somewhere in our minds was not to be denied, however, and grew loud enough in some folks' ears to bring some back around to reality. There’s more willingness, now, to think about what’s inevitably ahead.
I’m not being morose about it. I’m thinking ahead to the “celebration of life” gathering somebody will probably organize on my behalf when I kick the bucket. In fact, I'm offering a few suggestions about how the program should go.
It would be nice, of course, if it started out with a couple of people getting up and saying some kind words about me – you know, how I was always cheerful, always willing to lend a helping hand, always a loyal friend. All the usual things people say about the dear departed, whether true or not.
I don’t want anybody to feel obligated to break new ground, so to speak, by telling the truth about my foibles and foolishness, my occasional meanness, and my moments of misery. So it’s OK -- just stick to the tried and true homilies.
When it comes to the entertainment portion of the event, however, I do want to go in a new direction. I don’t want any solemn classical music, I don’t want any soothing modern piano music, the kind you hear in the elevator when you’re going to the lawyer’s office for the reading of the will.
I don’t want Andy Williams oozing out “Moon River” and I especially don’t want anybody playing “Wind Beneath My Wings.” That would remind everybody what a blowhard I could be.
“Hey, you, get off my cloud!” That’s what I want. The Rolling Stones, turned way up. Not that I really feel that way, because I've always liked company, no matter what condition I was in. But it's a rousing tune and would get some grins from the folks who came to the gathering mostly out of a sense of obligation, and were mostly looking forward to the beer and chips on the table at the back of the room.
I'd also like "Knockin' on Heaven's Door" by Bob Dylan, with the volume turned down a bit. It's really a beautiful melody with simple but poignant lyrics. A little sorrowful, perhaps. But most lives have a little sorrow, and we shouldn’t deny it.
Play “In My Life” by the Beatles for my wife. For me, it says it all -- better than any other words ever written, said, or sung.
Another melancholy tune, nevertheless one of my all-time favorites, would be next: "Sleep Walk," an instrumental by Santo and Johnny. That song turns me blue whenever I hear it, but I just can't hear it enough. Just indulge me, and listen to it one more time for me.
To get things back on a more cheerful note, I'd like to have "Teen Angel," sung by Mark Dinning, played with the words projected on the wall so everybody can sing along, reliving their teenage angst and remembering how much fun it actually was.
Throw in "El Paso" by Marty Robbins and "Running Bear" by Johnny Preston for those who really relish tragedy.
(If I can find them in time, I'll put the words to my "Running Bare" version with other important papers like my old passport, draft card and credit card cancellations.)
You can't have a rock 'n' roll wake without "Stairway to Heaven," by Led Zeppelin, "Magic Carpet Ride" by Steppenwolf or "Eight Miles High" by the Byrds. "Cloud Nine," by the Temptations, sort of fits in with the general theme, though it's about a drug-induced feeling of heavenly peace, not about the afterlife.
“Great Balls of Fire” by the late, great, genuine bad-boy of rock – Jerry Lee Lewis – is a must. Not that it might be describing the conditions of my next address, but because it’s the quintessential, flat-out, butt-kicking anthem of rock and roll, the one that got us all charged up when we saw our parents’ faces go pale at the words and sounds.
One close-out song that goes too far for comfort is "The End." As much as I've always liked the Doors, it's way too much a downer. No Doors work brings bright smiles to anybody's face, but "Riders on the Storm" might do for a wake. It's a mysterious, other-worldy tune, even though a little scary.
Last on my list, last because it's the pop song that deals with death better any other tune I know, is "And When I Die" by Blood, Sweat and Tears. To my mind it's almost optimistic. It's at least reminds us of the great cycle we're a part of:
And when I die, and when I'm gone
There'll be one child born
In this world to carry on, to carry on.