I know how I want to be celebrated after I die: Not with a funeral, but with a party | Opinion

If you tend to shy away from discussions about death and dying, maybe you should fast forward to the comics section right now.

On the other hand, if you’re willing to give me a shot at this subject, here’s what I’m thinking:

At my age of 82 — and savoring a “near death” experience to which I was party several years ago — I consider death as a “what’s next.” No amount of histrionics is going to change that fact. We’ve all heard the expression, “no one gets out of this alive.” So what do we have control over?

I’m thinking that we do not have to approach this eventuality passively. There really are things we can do. Much has changed recently in what is “okay” in our outlook and practice surrounding death and its aftermath.

For me, that means I have earned the right to die without dignity! Dignity is largely overrated, I think. Children have no place for dignity. Everything, to them, is new and exciting: every day is a surprise to be unwrapped. Why not approach death in the same way? In her song “I Think I’ll Just Let the Mystery Be,” American singer Iris DeMent ponders many of the different ways death — and what comes after — have been described: from heaven or purgatory, to coming back as a “bunch of carrots or little sweet peas.” Tongue-in-cheek, I think. But refreshing, too.

I’ve lived a life coloring outside the lines. Why should this experience be different?

I will be cremated in my clown costume (the one I wore, not asking permission from anyone, to my co-worker Brad’s 60th birthday party). There were lots of surprised faces that broke out into smiles and laughter. That’s the way I want to journey to that higher, richer plane that I anticipate is coming next. Dignity? No. Give me fun every time.

Funeral? So old school. Celebration of life? A change in the right direction. But how about just going straight to “party”? I’ve been a party person for my family, for my neighbors in Prunedale and then in Depoe Bay, Oregon, for my co-workers at Insurance Center of Salinas and now for my crew friends at Safeway. Why not a party as my last opportunity to be the unique person I’ve always been? For me, this is the only attractive option.

What makes a good party? Well, first, it must be outdoors. No somber, low-lighted space encouraging silence and deadpan faces. Let’s get together where we can move about freely, greet each other happily, feel the caress of a cool breeze and breathe deeply the essence of life.

Second, there must be balloons. Lots of them! All colors, all sizes, every shape imaginable. And bubble machines! Can you think of anything that says “party” more clearly than balloons and bubbles?

Third, there must be a toast to the beauty of life, to friends and family and to the One In Charge of It All. Who but our beneficent creator could have thought of a plane of existence that places us smack-dab in the middle of our tribe, the people who cherish us and seek us out and become our mirror for all that is good and holy in life and in death?

My younger son introduced me to gin and tonic. So the toast must be tall gin and tonics with lots of ice and a lime wedge. It’s got to have it all to be real, and this is no occasion for “almost.” Sipping a tall one among the balloons and bubbles in the company of those dear to us? Now, that’s a party!

And for the kids? Could there possibly be an egg hunt? Is that carrying things too far? In keeping with my name, I have not restricted egg hunts to Easter only. We have one every time we bring the kids together, so I believe there ought to be one on this occasion, too.

Oh, and I’ve written my own obituary. You’re reading this in our Modesto Bee. I’ve met many of you because I have been privileged to gather here with you regularly, bare my heart and share my deepest thoughts through this vehicle. This has been my joy. You’ve expressed to me that this experience has been a happy one for you, too. So, why would I leave my printed obituary in my Modesto Bee to the whim of someone else, no matter how close? Could anyone else truly tell you what was important to me? I’m taking no chances!

Now, with a smile on my face and a happy heart, I quote from registered nurse Barbara Karnes’s book, “The Final Act of Living”:

“There is really no such action as dying. It is a misnomer. We use it to make reference to a process and a time period, but really there is no such thing. We are either alive or dead. The space in between is called living.”

Let’s do it — live, that is — until there’s nothing left. Let’s die having spent our wad, lived our best life, worn costumes, thrown parties, written columns, mopped sidewalks, watched butterflies, grown flowers, bagged groceries, fed our families, painted pictures, hugged children, baked cakes, blown up balloons, chased bubbles and been amazed at sunsets.

That is called living.

Could “what’s next” be even better?

I’m banking on it.