I've told my daughters that when I die, I want my life celebrated, not my death mourned.
My grandmother had the right idea. Her adult beverage of choice was fine Irish whiskey. (She had a shot every day for the last few years of her life, which stretched well into her nineties.) For years, she'd told her descendants (at the time of her death, three children, twelve grandchildren, twelve great-grandchildren, and one great-great grandchild) that we were to toast her life with a shot of whiskey over her grave.
Everyone old enough (and we were a bit forgiving about that, in some cases) participated, including my mother, who rarely drinks anything other than an occasional glass of wine. It was a wonderful send-off. |
