I’m going to die. Probably not today, but someday. A few of my surviving relatives would prefer to toss my dead body into the river and celebrate with a party, but I’ve made legal arrangements for my proper burial. There still will be a glorious celebration.
I have a policy through Bankers Life Insurance that pays $15,000 at my death. The beneficiary is a cute guy I call Studley, and we have similar policies between us. If he goes before I do, my son will receive the money. I trust him to find a cheap but unused casket and haul me to the Wendell Cemetery to be buried next to my parents in Section 18, Block 2. He can spend the rest of the money on an elaborate party with festive live music, tables laden with copious quantities of delicious food, and an open bar with the best drinks and fine wine. There will be laughter, storytelling, and gallant toasts to my memory. Loud sobbing and mournful wailing will be permitted on an intermittent basis. He can keep the change.
My instructions are written and included in my Will, and burial expenses will be minimal. My father bought several cemetery plots in 1959 for my siblings, my mother, himself, and me. I’m the only one still alive. A few years ago, I commissioned a bench to honor my parents and brothers, and the bench will be my headstone. Per my written instructions, my first name will be engraved before Ambrose and the dates of birth and death will be added. Easy assignment. Cue the band and start the party.
My end-of-life insurance policy costs $90 a month. If I get hit with a wine truck and die tomorrow, the insurance company loses almost $15,000. But, I’ll be dead so I won’t care. However, I resemble my paternal grandmother, and she lived to be 92 and still worked crossword puzzles until the day she died. If I live that long, the monthly payments will exceed $15,000, and the insurance company would be reimbursed plus gain additional profit. To break even, I need to die within 15 years. I’m good with that because I’ve had a splendid, abundant, and spirited life. I’m grateful.
Have a plan.
My sweet mother was in hospice care twice, and each time I organized the plans for her funeral. The process was painful. I hope to reduce the stress for my loved ones by having everything arranged and pre-paid. Their only concern will be who gets my prized collection of finger puppets and clown noses. I hope they don’t fight.