When I worked at the funeral home, one of my
responsibilities was taking in clothing to dress the deceased from families and
getting that clothing to our care team on time for the deceased to be fully
decked out for his or her services. Over
the time I was there we had full Scottish kilt regalia, military uniforms,
tuxedos, ball gowns, wedding dresses, karate gi, cultural garments of all
nations, sports team apparel, special dresses, a toga, Hawaiian shirts with
flip flops and sunglasses, and every imaginable outfit in between. For funeral and memorial services, anything
goes. For cremation, the only thing that
folks cannot wear is clothing with a large amount of elastic or latex in its
construction – so scuba suits are out.
Bike shorts are at the discretion of the funeral director and SPANX are
nixed. No shoes for the same smoldering reason.
Our loved ones will exit the world as we enter, barefoot.
At the front desk of the funeral home, my standard answer
when asked, “What clothing should we bring to dress (the deceased) in?” was “Bring whatever you feel would make them
comfortable – we will use whatever you bring and people bring everything from
pajamas/robes and slippers to formal attire.”
When asked about undergarments, “Whatever you bring, we will use. Whatever you don’t bring, the team can
accommodate or improvise.” Just enough
left unsaid so that if Depends or an Ace bandage wrap was needed to keep one’s accoutrements
aligned and presentable, no one was the wiser. No one needs to know ALL the tricks of the
trade. That’s a whole nother story…
After sharing this information with my mom and some pals, we
devised a plan to determine that A) we would not be subject to any undesired
viewings in the event of our untimely demise and B) that we would have the last
laugh. Since clothing is often adjusted
to fit the current state of the body at death, we determined that this is the
only time we will all fit into a size 6 dress.
We give full permission for it to be slit up the back, pinned in
place and positioned to cover the major necessities. Thus, we will be buried, cremated or
otherwise disposed of in a size 6 dress, thereby achieving a life-long
goal.
We decided this for a few reasons. I was surprised how many people desired their
family member to be adorned in full undergarments – girdle, bra, pantyhose,
slip, shoes, full makeup, false eyelashes, etc.
I’m opting for comfy granny panties and bra to be utilized at the
discretion of the care team. For all intents and purposes, we can be
shrink-wrapped to keep the attributes in place and the dress pinned and stapled
as necessary. I used to look at folks
who brought all the underpinnings in slight disbelief thinking, “Really? Do you know how hard this is to put on a LIVING person?” Then there were those who brought NO
undergarments. At all. We just want him to be comfortable. Again, I’m thinking, “If he ‘went commando’
(sans skivvies) in real life, I do NOT need to know THAT.”
In the back of my closet is a navy silk sheath made by a
classic designer in a chic style with a fabulous navy floral scarf acquired in
a trip to China. The dress is a size
6. Now I have not comfortably WORN a
size 6 dress in several decades but this dress is for a very special
occasion. I won’t be wearing shoes,
panty hose, girdle or possibly even a bra, but it will likely fit because it
will be the last dress I ever wear and the people dressing me will take liberties to make me look
good. I am being buried in a size 6
dress come hell, high water or act of God, because I believe in their ability
to work miracles. And, because in no way
shape or form, will I be viewed at my memorial service.
I want to be a box of ashes to be shared with the
adventurous to spread on every beautiful beach that my friends and family
encounter. I want to be made into a
beautiful piece of glasswork and kept somewhere special by my sons. I want to be submerged in the Great Barrier
Reef and mingle with the tropical fishes off the coast of Northeastern
Australia. I want a small amount of my
remains to be interred in a wall niche in South King County so my descendants
can find my grave easily. Inside the
cemetery gate, turn right, end of the wall.
Eye level, and chosen specifically for that purpose.
Because my death will most likely not occur subject to my
demands and expectations, I have made darn sure that my best gal pals and
family know the modus operandi for the post-mortem arrangements. There will be fashionable dresses, fabulous
hats, cocktails, appetizers, chocolates and decadence for damn sure – because
in the Taoist tradition, death is a celebration to another form of life.
When my sons were young, we had cake and ice
cream to make them unafraid of death. It
worked. I had to coach them to wait until
I had COMPLETED a phone call learning of a death to revel in the fact that
refreshments were in order. The first
time we celebrated was after a close neighbor died a brain tumor and sustained
a coma over a period of several months.
While she was ill, our oldest son would read Harry Potter books to her
in her comatose state when I gave her husband a respite break to run errands. She never corrected his pronunciation, for
which he was happy to keep reading as long as she was quietly listening. Not a problem.
I’d always feared death before spending much time with dead
people at the funeral home. Those who
had lived full lives looked peaceful and like their life’s work had
completed. Those my age or younger gave
me more unease. Deaths due to accident,
violence, sudden illnesses or ravaged by disease at young age were harder to
process. Even the paperwork would cause
awkward feelings. In my current job
providing home health care to home-bound patients of Medicare age, we have
patients well in to their 80s and 90s who are dependent on skilled nursing care
to balance the medications and conditions that keep their health from
degenerating. When they die, it is often a question of how much medical
intervention is the right amount.
My next job tasks will branch into providing
hospice care for those coming to the end of their life span. It is my hope that at some time in the future,
I have the opportunity to be with someone at the hour of their death. I think that would be a great honor and
privilege to be welcome at the end of life to bear the responsibility not to
let a person die alone. It is a promise
I made that I was not able to keep once and I feel a deep need to fulfill it
within my lifetime.
However, when my time comes, any person with me is going to
know the story of the size 6 dress in my closet and that it should be sent with
me to the funeral home when I am called home to my eternal reward. I certainly won’t need it where I’m going,
since I will be spending eternity on a stunning white sandy beach on the coast
of Australia, my personal vision of Heaven.
