Lu for Alaska@luinalaska
This is where I write. Watching the World Cup with the keen interest of a betting woman while I work on my section re: death and dying. It’s not a sad book, I swear. For helpful reference I’ve included my own end-of-life wishes for my own care. Feel free to share with any boomers who refuse to accept they’re actually going to die.
An excerpt:
If God should see fit to allow me to reach an advanced age, please abide by the following non-negotiable demands.
1. If I forget who I am, who you are, what I’m doing, and where I am, you had better never do a single thing to prolong my life. UTI? Give me 20 mg morphine and a Xanax blended in an iced mocha once an hour. Fall and break a hip? Leave me alone and follow the pharmaceutical protocol above.
2. Once I reach an advanced age, I plan to engage in degenerate gambling, bingo, and intermittently heavy recreational drug use as my primary hobbies. Wheel me out into the garden, hand me a joint, and give me $100 worth of pull tabs from the bar. Make sure I make it to confession weekly (ideally sober, but buzzed is acceptable). Don’t over-complicate this.
3. If I become consistently grumpy, hook me up to ketamine drips and make sure I’m praying my rosary daily. If this does not improve my attitude, add psychedelics as needed. Vibes-based dosing is strongly encouraged.
4. Call a priest if it’s not looking good for me.
5. Pray for my soul after I die. Purgatory may take time, and I will need your spiritual pleading.
6. Enjoy the fruits of my labor. Enjoy the cabin. Enjoy the land. Enjoy it all. When I die, I plan to owe nothing and own nothing. If someone claims I owe them something, that bastard is lying.
7. Wheel me to church. It’s good for me. If I can’t behave during the service, park me in the lobby or the baby cry-it-out room (as long as I don’t scare the children with my stark raving). The parking lot is an acceptable last resort, weather permitting. The Lord will understand.
8. Do not give me vitamins. None. If my vitamin D is low, you haven’t put me outside enough. Park me by the chicken coop. Do not try to keep my cholesterol low. If something doesn’t improve my mood, take away pain, or make my day more magical, keep it away from me. Do not give me statins, or I will haunt you.
9. Remember that our souls are in this world but not of this world. I am not fighting the Lord to stay here with you fine people. I’ll see you on the other side, honey. I won’t even be done with celestial orientation by the time you arrive. I won’t have time to miss you, so don’t miss me too much. The only things in this world that scare me are the IRS, heights, and the anglerfish. I’m damn sure not scared of dying.
10. Do not feed me sugar-free, fat-free, high-fiber, low-carb bullshit as an old woman. I want baklava and expensive cheese. I want to take my pills with gin. If my doctor says this is unacceptable, fire them immediately and get me a new one, or stop taking me to the doctor altogether. Find me a shaman. Buy my drugs in Tijuana. I have always loved a good deal. Buy in bulk with pesos.
Burial Directions
First, put me in a rough cut pine box. Cut down a tree out back and make one yourself. It doesn’t need to be fancy. I’ll already be dead. Do not ship me off our small Alaskan island to be embalmed. How absolutely weird. Cut down a tree, dig a big hole with Dad’s excavator, roll me up in my prettiest tablecloth, drop me in the hole, and plant a tree (a honeysuckle would be nice). Pray for my soul and toast my life with a reasonably priced bottle of wine.
❤️
Mom