My Last Party

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­M­y son recently spotted a family traipsing around Disneyworld in matching teeshirts. He turned to me with envy and complained, “Look! That should be us.” “Over my dead body,” I replied, and then suddenly it occurred to me that we could both have what we wanted.

Over my dead body. I could do that. You see, I come from a family who loves to plan their own funerals. It’s a tradition. I don’t want to say that we are control freaks, but some of us have actually been buried with remote controls clasped in our bossy little hands.

I made fun of my mom when she showed me her funeral journal, complete with sketches of caskets, color theme ideas, music suggestions (“Those were the days, my friend, I thought they’d never end…”), who was to be invited, who was to be black-balled. Now, here I sit, just a decade later, my laptop humming, planning my last party. And here’s what I have so far—

First of all, for Kevin, let’s get matching tee-shirts printed. Like those shirts that declare Johnson Family Reunion, only different. Mine will be black, three-quarter-length sleeves, air-brushed with the date and the words, “It’s my funeral”. Note to self: Should we also include the city and state? Or the name of the funeral home? If we inserted the name of the funeral home and promised to wear the shirts from time to time, could we get a discount on the funeral?

Everyone else’s shirt (all black, short-sleeved) should say, “It’s her funeral” and the date.

Music. I want something jumpy that compels people to tap their toes. The Beatles have always been my favorite, while my husband favors classical music, and I’m very tempted to request the theme song from Six Feet Under, but still, I think I will have to go with a medley of songs with the word “death”, or “dying”, in it. We’ll see how long it takes for someone to catch on and yell out, “Songs with the word Death in it!”—like some macabre $50,000 Pyramid Game contestant. I think we should give that observant person a prize, maybe my Lerner and Lowe soundtracks?