A Sad, Uncomfortable Subject

A few days ago, Mrs. Lion brought up a subject she thought would upset me. It was about death, my death. She’s quite a bit younger than me, and I guess she was thinking about my , inevitable demise. I don’t think too much about dying. It’s going to happen sooner or later. I’m not immortal. It’s almost certain that she will outlive me. No, I’m not sick nor am I aware of any reason I could croak soon. Still, it will happen. [Mrs. Lion — I was only thinking about it because when my friend’s stepfather died, she said they took some of his ashes and scattered them different places he loved. Up till then, I never thought about what to do with ashes. My father was cremated and buried in his cemetery plot. My mother was too. My sister had a coworker who carried her husband’s ashes around in her purse. Lion always jokes that I should put him in a big plastic bag and put him out with the trash. It doesn’t make any sense for either of us to have funerals. No one would come. Funerals are stupidly expensive anyway. Cremation makes the most sense. But what then? Do the ashes just “live” on the mantle? It just seemed fitting to take Lion back to some of the places he loves. I have no desire to go to Italy or Africa. So Lion will remain an American Lion after death. Assuming he goes first, of course. If I go first, I don’t care.]

The thing about dying is that it won’t matter to me when I go. I don’t believe in the afterlife, so when my heart stops, my brain shuts down, and I am no more. Mrs. Lion decided that she would cremate me. I’m OK with that since no one would visit my grave if she buried me. Funerals are expensive. We aren’t rich, and I would rather see Mrs. Lion conserve what savings we have.

The conversation she started was about where I might want some of my ashes spread. She knows I love Yellowstone and Disney World, so she figured they would be good places to start. I also love Greenwich Village, Venice, and Ngorongoro Crater in Tanzania. Other than New York City, she is unlikely to visit those other places.

Since I won’t know where my remains end up, spreading ashes is more of a tribute than anything else. It’s nice to think that part of me will end up in places I love. But, let’s face it, I won’t know the difference. While I’m alive, I do find the idea romantic. One thing I would really like is to see this blog survive me. That will be problematic. It costs money each month and Mrs. Lion would have to be sure the payments are made. The site itself needs occasional maintenance, and she’s never looked behind the technical curtain. I considered moving to Blogger, a free service run by Google. There would be no technical work required. To do that now would be a monumental task. There’s no way to migrate from WordPress to Blogger. Each post would have to be copied and republished. We have nearly 6,700 posts and over 50 pages of other content. Even if I managed to do that, the site wouldn’t be as pretty or accessible, and we would lose many features.

I’m pretty sure that maintaining our blog would be a very low priority for her. So, either it will be shut down for nonpayment or die of technical failure. I consider this blog to be one of my major successes, and I want it to survive. That means more to me than putting my ashes in places that I loved. Maybe one reason I want to get my novel published is to claim a small slice of immortality.

I realize that it’s silly to worry about that. It’s not like I will be looking down at the world and counting the blog’s pageviews. I will cease to exist, and my memory will fade from the minds of people who knew me. I realize that I’m a pebble dropped into the pond of life. I made a few small ripples that touched some others. I’m grateful for them.

As for the present, I’ll keep plugging along with my writing. I’ll be as loving as I can to my wonderful wife and partner. I’ll try to keep you posted on what’s happening in my life. If it turns out that I’m wrong and there is an afterlife, I’ll be sure to write some heavenly posts for the blog.

Listen to this post.