...the death march begins when I turn seventy next month. This weekend Gale and I met with Jerry Derfelt of Derfelt Funeral Home, Galena, Kansas, to pre-arrange our funerals.
I handed him a CD. "I know you usually don't have six songs at funerals, but these are my testimony and I want them played."
He smiled. "No, we usually don't, but I know music is important to you. We'll play them." We went to church with Jerry and his family, and he plays my recorded music at funerals.
"She wanted more songs," Gale said, "and I was going to serve pop corn during intermission, but..." (laugh)
Jerry explained some options, and we discussed transporting our bodies from SE Texas to SE Kansas. He can drive to Texas and pick up our pre-embombed bodies from a sub-contractor-mortician. We may chose a casket in Texas or he'll carry us on a gurney.
Suddenly, I saw myself bouncing about in the hearse as he slid around curves snaking through the Boston Mountains. While worshiping my Lord and shouting glory-hallelujah, I glanced down and chuckled at my bones and flesh and fat pads tousled every which way.
Now, I know Jerry is too professional to let that happen, but sometimes my imagination bursts like a night-sky on the fourth of July.
