FACING THE FINAL CURTAIN

FINAL. The end. Two remarkable short but powerful words. His final breath, her final moment. One we ponder about often is Jesus’s final hour and what went on until the end.

Life is like a movie that captivates us and at the end of it the words “The End” show up on the screen. The lights go on and nobody really cares to sit until all the names of the producers, cast and crew have slowly rolled by. We get up and leave.

As we leave we are either thrilled by what we have seen or not. When we reach our end, our final hour, we too are in the spotlight of people who want to see or hear the words “over”.

We get up and leave, and for most of us life carries on, regardless. It is like a wedding. Months of painful planning, then the final day arrives, and after the words “I do”, it is done. All that is left the next morning is evidence of a celebration the night before – dirty dishes, bills to be paid and loads of rubbish to be cleared.

Depending on how important or wealthy you were, some will be remembered in the form of a monumental tombstone, a trust or foundation, to carry the legacy forward. The rest of us are simply ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

Many homeless people who died never get to have a proper, family-arranged funeral. Some don’t even have a service at all. Nobody around to say a few inspiring words or any form of remembrance of the person who passed on.

There are people out there who never cared less about the well-being of a relative, but on the day of the person’s funeral, he is going down under in Hollywood style. Limos, designer outfits and of course, extravagant catering. All arranged and covered by a funeral policy.

Being in hospital again made me think of this whole final act of dignity. I see it as a last spectacular act.

I would rather be cremated cheap-cheap and have street kids taken on a bus outing to a beach for the day. McDonald’s et al.

The sheer inconvenience for people to take off time from work, parking hassles and bad weather are enough to take a rain cheque… ha! Not possible. I might peg in the middle of the month, when most are, so to speak, flat broke. Flowers are going to ruin the budget unless it is bought on your Woolies account.

I might have over 4000 Facebook friends, but the reality is I will have to use rent-a-crowd to fill the hall.

Conclusion: Cremate me in a cardboard box, drop my ashes on a beach and have the mother of all kids’ parties. Celebrate people while they are still alive. Each moment could be our final hour.

All that is left the next morning is evidence of a celebration the night before, dirty dishes, bills to be paid and loads of rubbish to be cleared.