
I would prefer an anonymous death myself. Just sort of "go out," as it were, quiet, no fanfare, no ceremony afterward. Organ donation and body to a medical school, as I've already arranged. I guess folks will do what they need to do for themselves regarding the formalities, and that's all right with me. But the last three verses of Benet's "The Ballad of William Sycamore" sums it up as I see it:
"Now I lie in the heart of the fat, black soil,
Like the seed of the prairie-thistle;
It has washed my bones with honey and oil
And picked them clean as a whistle.
And my youth returns, like the rains of Spring,
And my sons, like the wild-geese flying;
And I lie and hear the meadow-lark sing
And have much content in my dying.
Go play with the towns you have built of blocks,
The towns where you would have bound me!
I sleep in my earth like a tired fox,
And my buffalo have found me."

will there be more thoughts? I really enjoyed reading this - a fitting end for a writer (as a punctuation mark). the last line finishes it beautifuly...

Sudden/unexpected for me, I hope.
I imagine for many, if not most people, it's not death itself that's feared, it's the manner of it. Having read your 'Snapshots' notes Pags, I realize you are all too familiar with that situation. The only positive thing I can dredge up regarding adversity is that often it can sharpen and focus the mind - perhaps one area in which that manifests itself is writing.
Whether or not that's a factor here, I enjoyed both these extended thoughts on death, but then I'm a literary masochist, so no surprise there :>
[S1 L1 - "martyr's" should have an apostrophe
S2 L7 - a typo..."ends" should be 'end', I think]

I know I'm a pain regarding details Pags, but this is excellent stuff, and I want to
close the book,
and smile,
then sigh,
"Now that was good."
:)