Burn or Bury?

Where do you stand (lie)?

The end of the road. We all have to face it. Some of us sooner than others, regretfully.

As I age, I give death a great deal of thought. I’m not obsessed, but I am scared. I’m not one with a great deal of faith to fall back on, so it’s difficult for me to imagine a “better place.”

In fact, after someone shuffles off this mortal coil, and people say, “He/she has gone to a better place,” what the hell does that mean? Is it “better” to be dead? Is the “better place” Heaven? Does Heaven exist? And, if indeed it does, you have to wonder if there are assholes there, too, fucking things up like they do down here.

Maybe the assholes turn into better people after the ascent to a better place, but what the hell do I know?

Adding serious insult to injury, dying isn’t the end of it. There’s the “disposing of the body thing.” Having to make that decision while we’re still here on Earth, eating, sleeping, screwing, etc., is macabre as shit.

And look at the choices: We can either be boxed up and stuck in the ground like an afterthought, or shoved in an oven like a Sunday roast. I mean, WTF?

Why can’t we just turn into fairies like Tinker Bell? All of us, flickers of light, joyously setting the night sky aglow as we journey to our better place.

No, my friends. We have to molder in a box or be charbroiled and either reside in an urn on someone’s mantle or be scattered like so much pigeon feed.

In case you’re on the fence, let’s get down to the nitty gritty of our two meager options.

First up: Cremation.

From FuneralWise, (great name, that), here’s how the process works as reputable crematories are very strict, procedurally.

First, paperwork must be completed, either pre-death, by the intended crispy critter, or their loved one, signifying that the crematory has permission to fan the flames.

Next, the body is prepared for cremation. Bathed, dressed, no-chip mani for the ladies, shave and a haircut for the guys (kidding here, folks), and so on. All jewelry is removed, as well as any mechanical medical devices and prosthetics, as they can interfere with the cremation process.

Unless the body is to be viewed like a holiday display in Macy’s window, there is no embalming.

Now we move on to actual containment of the diseased. Because it’s important that they don’t get out. As in, “come back.” Here are the options: A standard casket or cardboard box. I think I’d go the Amazon Prime route. Save a few bucks.

Enough talk. Time to build a fire. The cremation chamber is actually an industrial furnace that’s large enough to hold one body. So, if you’re thinking double Dutch, forget it. The chamber is lined with fire-resistant bricks that can withstand temperatures up to 2000 degrees and is fueled by either natural gas, propane, or diesel fuel. Like everything else these days, the cremation chamber is automated and computerized.

Marinade and/or barbecue sauce is optional.

After the deed is done, the remains are cooled and then inspected for remnants of metal, which are often sent to a recycler. Awesome. I feel so much better!

After the remains are cleaned and “sifted” like the foundation for an angel food cake, what is left behind is bits of bone. These are ground down by a special processor into “cremains,” or what we refer to as “ashes.”

Is it hot in here or am I imploding?

Finally, the cremains are poured into a baggie. I suppose the size depends upon how large the diseased was. Sandwich bag? Quart? Gallon?

The bagged-up individual is then placed in a temporary urn, or one provided by the family, and then returned to them.

Our other option, burial, is fairly cut and dried: We’re talkin’ sponge-bath, clothing and embalming.

I know you’re wondering about the embalming process, right? Lucky for you, I’m going to share!

From everplans.com, here’s what happens before your mortal remains are boxed and buried:

First, all bodily fluids are removed and replaced with formaldehyde-based chemical solutions. (Why can’t these come in designer scents? “Eau de Mort,” by Dior.)

Next, the body is prepared for — here we go again — viewing. The hair is styled. Unnatural-looking makeup is applied and the facial features are “set.” (I’m starting to feel queasy.)

Regarding the facial setting: Eyes are closed with skin glue and/or plastic, flesh-colored, oval-shaped “eye caps” that secure the lids in place. (Oy Vey.)

The mouth is closed and the jaw secured by an old-fashioned thread and needle or wires. I won’t go into the particulars here, as I may pass out.

Once the jaw is secured, the mouth can be manipulated into either a rakish grin, stoic, stiff upper lip, or “fuck you” sneer.

Once you’re trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey and everyone has eyeballed you, murmuring about how “natural” you look, the casket is closed and you are on your way to that better place. Under the ground. Hopefully, under a tree where birds can shit all over you. Because they gotta go, too.

Speaking of birds, I’m going to digress here and confess to you that I’ve always thought that birds are angels. I mean, there are billions of species of birds. Where do their bodies go when they die? You never see a sidewalk or street covered with dead birds, right?

Okay. Enough talk about death, except for this final thought. My father chose to be buried and my mother went along with his wishes. This shocked the hell out of my sister and I. We never imagined he’d opt out of cremation.

I think I know what side of the fence I’m lying on. And, you?

As always, thanks for reading.

Sherry McGuinn is a longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. Her work has appeared in The Chicago Tribune, Chicago Sun-Times and numerous other publications. Sherry’s manager is currently pitching her newest screenplay, a drama with dark, comedic overtones and inspired by a true story.

If you’re still with me, there’s more where this came from: