Do You Think That Burying The Dead Is A Waste Of Space?

I fancy ‘I hear you knocking but you can’t come in’ … a great coffin song . :grinning_face_with_smiling_eyes:

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Ha ha…luv it :rofl:

I read that as Clanadonia and had visions of bare chested highlanders banging drums and bellowing out bagpipes on your way out! :joy:

Actually…that’s a thought, I wonder if they do funerals

I knew a lady who requested that her wrists were cut when she died. She had a fear of being buried alive, so wanted her wrists cut to make sure she was dead!

If you ain’t been dead before, how can you make sure of anything?

Just what someone told you? :icon_wink:

I would ask her but… errrrrm… she’s dead and not contactable…

It does qualify as one of the strangest last requests I’ve ever heard of.

If embalmed, she’s already dead. Cutting the wrists would only cause the seepage of the disinfectant and the preservatives. She was thorough, though, in what the wanted to have happen, so I give her credit, there! :slight_smile:

It reminds me of the Victorian practice of tying little bells to toes and hands and feet of the newly deceased lying in the mortuary…

She was paranoid that she would be buried alive.

The irony been, the poor soul whom she expected to cut her wrists to make sure she was dead, could be accused of attempted murder if she wasn’t.

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Ha! That’s funny… in a black comedy way!

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I knew you’d think so …you have a quirky humour yourself.

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I watched a video link to an old friend’s cremation service today. That is the third one of those I have watched. Still not sure how I feel about these but guess that it is useful for people who are unable to attend. My husband can’t watch them at all.

Victorian post mortem photography.
Compelling, moving and yet disturbing to the modern eye.

Cremation is normal in most Eastern cultures.

I am Christian though and we have a ‘family plot’ at the graveyard in my hometown but I’m not sure that I want to be buried. My father chose cremation and I am leaning towards cremation.

I’m too far away from my hometown to be buried there. My kids are established where we live currently and they would hardly ever visit my grave. Also,I would prefer my ashes scattered at sea.

I’ve seen it. It can seem a little creepy can’t it.

I saw my mother 15 minutes after her last breath had left her body … and I could tell it was just a hunk of meat and no longer my dear mum, call it her ‘essence’ or soul or spirit, whatever it was that made my mum, mum, she had gone.

Post mortem photography is intriguing if only for that reason.

I chose not to see my poor old Dad after he died because I had been with him for days before he died and he was just like a bag of bones in a nappy.
He hated anybody seeing him when he was ill and as he lay in bed at home he asked me to cover the mirror on the wardrobe so he couldn’t see himself.

When my Mum died almost 2 years ago I chose not to see her either for similar reasons. The funeral director did take a couple of photos of her in the coffin wrapped up in a crochet blanket I had made for her and gave them to me in a sealed envelope. It is still sealed.

I’m seldom lost for words Morticia, this time I am.
I mean that in the nicest possible way.