A couple of weeks ago, I lined up a daytime caregiver for my husband, Todd, so I could take a day trip with our 14-year-old son to ski and snowboard. During the two-hour car ride, he introduced me to the “Bellied Up” podcast, a call-in advice show with comedians Charlie Berens and Myles, the You Betcha Guy. They invite callers to belly up to the bar and share their situation, and then the guys dispense advice with thick Midwestern accents. It’s mostly silly banter, and I’ve since listened to a few older episodes looking for a laugh.
In one episode, a man called in for advice because his girlfriend was annoyed that he was working too much during maple syrup season. “I’m a funeral director by day, and then maple syrup producer by night, pretty much.”
“Oh, you’re a funeral director,” Charlie said.
“Let’s hold on with that,” Myles interrupted. “We’re going to dive into that in a little bit here.”
I smiled, anticipating the humor that was sure to come.
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Questions for the living
Death is frequently on my mind because Todd has had ALS for more than 13 years. Living with ALS is no joke, but both Todd and I have found comfort when humor and grief collide. We often laugh at the absurdity of the hardest parts of life.
After fleshing out the maple syrup situation, Myles asked the funeral director a question for the living: “When is too early to start looking at a plot in a cemetery? Do you have any advice on that? Should we be looking now to find some prime real estate, or can I wait a little later?”
“There’re two things that you’ll never escape,” he replied. “Death and taxes. So my piece of advice is, if you’re thinking about being buried in a cemetery, buy your plot now. That way it’s cheaper in the long run because you can prepay everything, all set ready to go right now, not pay a single penny more when your time comes, and it’s gonna be a lot cheaper now than it will be in the future.”
I’ve considered various burial sites in our area, such as a beautiful cemetery where green burial is an option. But in the green burial section, there are no headstones. While I’m drawn to the idea of my body becoming earth and providing nutrients for plants to grow, I’d also like to have a specific spot marked for my kids to visit, more than just a path that diverges into the woods to a pretty glade.
Every Memorial Day, the kids and I visit Lakeside Cemetery in Hancock, Michigan, where my dad is buried, as well as his parents, both sets of his grandparents, one of his sisters, and his aunt and uncle, who were like surrogate grandparents to me. That’s where I want Todd and me to be buried, but I hadn’t considered buying a plot now.
While it’s unlikely Todd will survive for many more years with ALS, I’m only in my mid-40s. But if plots aren’t getting any cheaper, perhaps Todd and I should buy a plot for both of us now and nail things down.
I posed the question to Todd: “Should we be buried in the old section of the cemetery where my great-grandparents and my aunt are buried? There are trees there, and it’d be nice to have shade when I visit. Or should we be buried near my dad on the other side of the cemetery?”
“Will your mom be buried next to him?”
“Yes.” Her name is already on the headstone.
“That’s where we should be, too,” Todd said. “But if you get remarried, you could end up being married to him for longer than you were married to me. You could be living in Florida, and would you really want to have your body brought all the way back here?”
“I could be cremated,” I said, “and if I remarry, I wouldn’t have kids with him. I’d want to be buried where our kids would visit both of us.”
“What do you think of buttercups and daisies on the headstone?” I asked because I like wildflowers.
“I love buttercups,” Todd said, “because that’s you.” Buttercup has long been his term of affection for me. “But I want a cross.”
We’re going to design a cross with buttercups.
“Should we get the headstone made now and store it?” I asked. “We could put it in the garage — or in our living room.”
“I think if we buy a plot, we can put it at the cemetery and add the dates of death later.”
“And then we can visit our plot together,” I enthused.
“That would be romantic,” Todd said.
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