On The Importance Of Having A Trustworthy Confidant
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I don't believe there is any 'afterlife' - when I die, that's it; I cease to exist. So why should I care about what sort of funeral I'm given? I won't know anything about it, right? So what does it matter?
Well, it matters because although I won't be aware of it, it will have an influence on others who are still living. Regardless of whether there is an 'afterlife', there sure as hell (forgive my lame humour) will be an 'afterMYlife', or at least I have reason to think there'll still be some people about after I die. It's also very likely that those of you who survive me (rather an odd expression - I hope it isn't as painful as it sounds), some of whom I know, but most of whom I don't, will continue to talk amongst yourselves. And that's why it is important to me that my funeral not be hijacked by those who do not share my views, as a means to promote and perpetuate theirs.
Sadly, in my experience, that's all too often what happens. Proponents of an 'afterlife' seem to view a funeral, no matter what the stated beliefs of the dead person, as a window of opportunity through which they can crash, launching their missals willy-nilly as they go. Like a smash and grab raid in reverse, they seek to implant a 'soul', only to claim it's gone off somewhere in the very next moment. The odd part is that a lot of people seem to think it's pretty much okay for them to do that, even though they don't really share their beliefs or, if they do, only in a half-hearted, token way. They just go along with it because, perhaps, they don't want to create a scene. They simply close their ears to the sound of breaking glass.
I wrote a few days ago about the genital mutilation of babies who, due to their physical state, are unable to voice objections, which is conveniently construed, by the advocates of ritual mutilation, as there having been no objections. It bears an uncanny similarity to the situation where a dead person, due to their physical state, is unable to voice objections to the hijacking of their funeral by proponents of an 'afterlife'. Fortunately, for a dead person there is no direct personal consequence from this lack of respect, a lack of respect which is so often proudly displayed by the perpetrators, as if it is a virtue. It's that lack of respect, the complete disregard for others, which royally pisses me off. If you happen to be at my funeral, and some knobhead decides to start on about an 'afterlife' (or any of that stuff), please ask them to stop immediately, because I specifically asked you to do that very thing. Thanks.
And then there's the deathbed conversion. I don't doubt that it happens, particularly if the unfortunate soon-to-be-dead person has some arsehole stimulating their fear receptors in their final days and hours, but I also suspect that, on occasion, the alleged conversion never actually happened. Of course, I have no direct evidence of that. How could I? But why should I think that the type of thinking which allows people to abuse babies and hijack funerals is limited to those events only?
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So here's the conundrum - how to prevent a false claim of your own deathbed conversion?
Achieving this requires some setting up in advance. Yes, you have to do it now to be sure it will work. I mean, you could be dead tomorrow, right? So here's what you have to do.
Firstly, you will need someone who you trust with your life, and who is also likely to outlive you. It could well be that a daughter or son would fit that profile.
Then, in secret, you and that person must agree upon a phrase that nobody else is likely to be able to guess. Something random and made up, like, "I didn't kick your kneecap when you were fourteen and three quarters", but whatever, it must be something that you will be able to remember word for word. So make it fun!
Next you put the agreed phrase in writing to your confidant, together with a statement that if you should happen to decide at, or near, the time of your death to alter your view (that there is no 'afterlife', or whatever best describes your view), the very first thing you will do, before you confide to them that you have converted, is ask the person who will witness your conversion to learn the agreed phrase (as proof of your conversion). Your confidant must keep the document, either paper or digital, in a safe place away from prying eyes, and not even reveal its existence, unless circumstances, such as an alleged deathbed conversion, make it necessary to do so.
In the event of a claim of deathbed conversion, your confidant only has to ask the claimant if you asked him, or her, to learn a phrase and, if so, to repeat that phrase. Bingo! It's revelation time.
It's not foolproof - for example, you might lose your marbles and inadvertently reveal the scheme - but if you think there is any chance of someone falsely claiming you underwent a deathbed conversion, then it might just catch them out (assuming your confidant has the courage to call them on it, which is a very good reason to choose your confidant wisely).
An additional benefit of this scheme is this: If you do decide to convert in your last moments, you have a means of confirming it beyond reasonable doubt.
Think I'm paranoid? I like to think it's the 'boy scout' in me - being prepared for all eventualities - even though I never was a boy scout!
Update: Edited the title and content when I realised that I had written 'confidente', which Wiktionary politely informs me is a common misspelling of 'confidant'. Common or not, it's a bummer when you catch yourself out! But I wish it was spelt 'confidente' - it evokes a more romantic feel, don't you think?
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