We all gather the same list during our lifetime. A list of family and friends who pass on before us. We do this until we join the list gathered by those who survive us.

Not planning to die is the one big lie we all secretly embrace. We know it’s not true, we see proof of the death of others that show it is not true, yet most choose not to plan for it.

We decided to bite the bullet (figuratively) and plan for those moments after we shed this mortal coil. Planning for the final trip. And, like most travel deals, the bargain is in early planning. We have chosen the pay before you go plan.

When it comes to dying, it is the one thing where planning to fail makes sense.

My timing on some things in this life has been impeccable. I am no longer a Catholic (I never enlisted, it was more involuntary servitude.) A wise and timely choice since I plan to be cremated and do not want my ashes held in trust by the church. I prefer a scattering along a wooded trail or sunny Caribbean beach to the perpetual storage at the C.C.C.C.C. (Crematorily Combusted Catholics Container Central.)

And what about those faithful departed who are already blowin’ in the wind? Is it necessary to reassemble them before the Judgement Day Jesus Reunion Tour?

Talk about where’s Waldo, now what?

Just a quick note, crematorily is a legitimate adverb. I checked with Donald Trump and he said it was, bigly.

But I digress.

There are a lot of choices to post-dying relocation. We settled on what is considered waterfront. Who knew death would offer me the chance to have waterfront property, albeit 4 square feet?

On a positive note, the DOA (Dead Occupant Association) fees include landscaping so I do not have to worry about cutting the grass or raking leaves. All included.

I wanted to have a Viking style cremation, but that is no longer allowed. Local fire departments have a zero-tolerance policy for such things. But, just in case some of my enterprising friends want to experience it, there is an option.

At the Swan Point Crematorium, they have what I consider to be a final exit worthy of the gods.

Self-service cremation.

Family and friends gather for the brief ceremony. There’s a big screen TV to display images of the deceased or the Patriots game depending on the timing. After all the nice words are said, the tears are shed, and poems are read they proceed into a small parlor area with a smoked (no pun intended) glass wall.

The funeral director, under the watchful eye of the family, guides the recently deceased in the combustible container to the adjacent room.

The light comes on, the smoked glass clears, and the entourage watches as the cardboard encased deceased is placed on a conveyor belt.

Now, here’s the best part. There’s a button on the wall. A very special button. This button, once pressed, initiates the final journey into the flames of the crematorium.

It’s a Burger King flame-broiled style Disney ride to the ashes to ashes part of the circle of life. A window to passing on through a flame fueled final journey. Designed for those doubting Thomas’s who mistrust everyone, yet offering an amusing end for those with friends with senses of humor.

Mine will fight for the chance.

Imagine the soundtrack possibilities. Highway to Hell, Fire and Rain, Light My Fire

I bet I could sell tickets for the opportunity to push the button. Might help defray the cost of the post-death open bar.

We have finalized the final plan. Set up the passing on ceremony. Memorialized our last choices so those whose list we join won’t have to.

With the plan in place, family and friends can gather together, warm themselves by the fire (I have no objections to marshmallow roasting), raise a Guinness, and say a few last words about me, such as;

Thank goodness, I hope the blog died with him.

Requiescat in flambé