This thread is inspired by Emmature's post regarding the loss of her professor and the details of his memorial service.

It reminded me of when my ex-landlady's husband passed away -- lung cancer as well -- but he also had the chance to plan his service. It was a big brunch, with a jazz trio, and a chance to reminisce about the man who was always smiling. And coincidentally, it was held on what would have been their wedding anniversary.

If you could plan your own memorial serivce, what would you plan?

I'm thinking mine would be like the one he had -- food, music, people getting together and enjoying each other's company. So, a lot like my wedding.

I'd been thinking about that today a lot too. I asked my boyfriend what he wanted and he said he had already told me. How could I have forgotten something as memorable as being put out to sea in a flaming rowboat? He's very into Norse mythology (hence the picture of me as a vampire and him as Thor). He always wears a copper necklace featuring the boat that ferries souls to the land of the dead.

I'm pretty sure sending a corpse to sea in a flaming rowboat is illegal, but Phil doesn't care.

As for me... I need to think some more. It's funny. Being goth is to acknowledge the dark side of things, including death, but sometimes it can still catch you off gaurd.

I dont know how I missed this!!

The best send off I've been to was for our old consultant Mr Hardman who sadly died very shortly after retiring. Everybody who went to his funeral had to wear white (his widow wore a white leather skirt) and they played "The Battle Hymn of the Republic" as his coffin was carried out. Sounds weird to say this but it was a "fun" funeral

I want a traditional Victorian one with black plumed horses and a pale undertaker walking in front looking miserable and if I got my own way I would be buried in an ivy covered mausoleum but then again I am one of the most pretentious people I know

Mr Damnation fancies a Viking longboat or being rolled up in a carpet and buried at sea.

My Dad says he will haunt me from beyond the grave if I dont scatter his ashes in the Rhine Valley

I know I cannot chose the time or season of my death, but if I could it would be late fall almost winter in a gazebo over looking rolling hills covered with the various shades of grey dotting the graceful curves layered with colors of fall on the ground. Maybe a poem or two about life being reborn from death and one throw in about laughter. Then as the leaves scurried across the ground my pallbearers will take me to my final resting place under the bare canopy of a white ash tree With a tombstone that only reads two lines "She lived her life to the fullest while upon this earth"

I know I'd like everyone to wear white at my funeral. Long white robes would be cool. And I'd like my favorite quote to be displayed somewhere prominently.

"From my rotting body, flowers will grow and I am in them and that is eternity." (Edvard Munch)

That's as far as I've gotten, lol.

I'm right with you, Mrs. D. I was wandering around an old settlers' cemetary recently (go ahead and laugh Brits, this cemetary has the oldest tombstones in my area- dating from the 1830s) and I adore the feel I get from the Victorian ones. I would love a victorian funeral, and my beloved remains steadfast in his desire for a viking burial.

But in the old settler's graveyard I stumbled upon my new favorite tombstone of all time. There are still burials there, but it's not the most glamorous place to lie. The fashionable want to be in the new main cemetary, or the Baptist cemetary. Paupers still lie in the tragic old slaves cemetary (the sign above the gate still says "colored people"- it houses another favorite tombstone, a cinderblock engraved with the name of a toddler who died in the 1970s that still gets fresh toys laid on it every holiday).

But i digress. My new favorite tombstone is a newer burial in the old settler's cemetary. It's a story told in a full paragraph. It starts off talking about how this man plowed fields with a mule, then ran away to join the circus. He preformed in a wild-west show all accross europe as "an authentic texas cowboy." Then he fell in love, got married, fought in WW1 and WWII... I don't even remember the rest of it. It just summed up that this guy lived a quirky life and was a bad*ss. A normal sad quote never would have done that. I sat down with him and asked him some of the questions I had wanted to ask my grandpa- or great-grandpa, if I had known them. The deceased bad*ss didn't answer directly, but the wind blew and sad, sun-bleached polyester flowers scuttled around my feet and in a moment he said something.

What you can learn from the dead is profound.

The dead tell us that we're all the same in death. They tell us that though we fight the knowledge of this fact, we're also the same in life. And we can learn from each other.

The bad*ss told me to go to the Catholic graveyard where my Grandpa is. Grandpa was rascist and womanizing, so I used that to write him off. But really, I wished I had paid more attention when he talked about the war. Someone can be a jerk and still have a lot to teach you. The bad*ss told me to talk to my flaky uncle and my angry uncle and my gay uncle. They may judge me and p!ss me off, but there's much to learn.

And THAT, is a graceful exit. I wish to teach strangers from beyond the grave, even if there is no afterlife. My art, my writing, and if those crumble, let me at least leave a really b!tchin' tombstone.

If I could choose the manner of my passing it would be driving my car into the ocean,sailing away on a wave of mutilation (as inspired by the Pixies track).

Emmature: That's truly lovely. And it makes a lot of sense. We do have a lot to learn from each other, even from people with whom we vehemently disagree. There's so much to each individual.