When I die …

When I die, I want to be buried in a cardboard coffin. I want it to be painted cerulean blue (to reflect the Australian sky), with white clouds on top of that.

At my funeral service, I want people to be given Sharpies in bright colours so that they can write notes to me on the clouds on my coffin. I hope that I die before my children so that they can see what people write to me in their farewells.

I don’t know how I want to die. There is something to be said for it happening quickly so that you don’t have time to think about it, or know that it’s happening. But there’s also something to be said for having time to get your affairs in order, to reach out to those that you’ve been meaning to reach out to for far too long, to say your goodbyes and thank yous. (Yes, that’s ‘yous’ not ‘youse’!) I don’t think I’ll try to put an order in – I’ll just accept what comes. Not that I’ll have any choice.

I want my funeral service to be relaxed. I’m not religious, so I don’t want it in a chapel or a church – it needs to reflect me. I don’t like going out much, so perhaps it should be at home – with me in the corner, like a wake. I think that’s the Irish coming out in me. Maybe the family could put on a few drinks and munchies and set aside an afternoon for people to wander in and out and say their goodbyes, share their memories and pass on their condolences. That would be a good time for them to write on my coffin, too, me thinks. Pity I won’t be around to see what they write! Or maybe it won’t be …