Iβm at the age where I find myself thinking more about death and dying. Perhaps thatβs because Iβm now on Social Security, a financial payment that weβre encouraged to take as late as possible, since the money keeps growing at 8% yearly, which is a damn good return on oneβs investment. Before taking those monthly stipends, we’re asked to consider how much we have in savings and what other forms of income we’ll have in retirement. And, of course, we’re told to gage just how long we think we might live, in an effort to not run out of money in our later years.
Though experts canβt pick an exact number, itβs thought that our genes are responsible for between 20 and 40% of our longevity. That has me feeling pretty positive since my dad died one week shy of 96 and my mom was about to turn 99 when she moved on. Still, one never knows when that speeding meteor from outer space will plunge through the atmosphere and strike one on the head, a scenario I mention because, if I had a choice, thatβs the end Iβd pick: death by giant space rock. Imagine the headline. Wouldnβt that be cool? Of course, Iβd want to be instantly vaporized, if for no other reason than to dispense with the “What do we do with her body?” scenario.
My sweetie pie and I have already had the “When we’re dead…” discussions with the kids. We have instructed them who to contact and explained how their inheritance will work. (Sorry, guys, no one gets a dime until youβre at least forty, so use your educations and get good jobs and pay your bills while you wait for us to kick off.)
Then the conversation always turns to our remains.
βI donβt want to be buried,β Iβve explained on multiple occasions. βIβm an organ donor, so let the doctors take whatever they think is useful. Then cook me.β
βYou want me to put your ashes in the sea?β Ryan asked. Though the question might sound strange, we’re both scuba divers, so yes, I liked the idea.
βHow about you dump some of me in the sea, some of me in the mountains, some of me in a forest, and some of me in my beautiful Sonoran Desert?β
Ryan stared with a look that said, βNothing is ever simple with you.β
The thing is, I donβt care where my ashes end up. The kids can toss them in the kitty litter, if they want. But I know there will be a bit of a glitch with the dispersal of my earthly remains because ofβ¦metal. I have a lot of it. Iβm carrying a titanium plate and 11 screws in one leg and I sport a handful of metal plates, spacers, and screws in my spine. Not sure about my teeth, but since theyβre awfulβIβve put a lot of dentists’ kids through collegeβIβm guessing there might be a bunch of metal in my mouth, as well.
Iβve learned that, when Iβm dead, they’ll shove me into a big toaster, cook me to the desired texture and temperature, and then theyβll rake through my ashes to find my metal bits. I picture them placing that hardware in a ziplock bag and handing it over to the kids.
βMake a windchime,β I told my son Troy. βString up my parts and hang me in the yard.β
βReally?β he said.
I grinned, picturing my fragments singing in the wind. βAbsolutely!β
YOUR FORGOTTEN SONS
INSPIRED BY A TRUE STORY
ANNE MONTGOMERY
Bud Richardville is inducted into the Army as the United States prepares for the invasion of Europe in 1943. A chance comment has Bud assigned to a Graves Registration Company, where his unit is tasked with locating, identifying, and burying the dead. Bud ships out, leaving behind his new wife, Lorraine, a mysterious woman who has stolen his heart but whose secretive nature and shadowy past leave many unanswered questions. When Bud and his men hit the beach at Normandy, they are immediately thrust into the horrors of what working in a graves unit entails. Bud is beaten down by the gruesome demands of his job and losses in his personal life, but then he meets Eva, an optimistic soul who despite the war can see a positive future. Will Evaβs love be enough to save him?
Order your copy today
Find Anne Montgomeryβs novels wherever you buy books.
Author Anne Montgomery 