McGinn: Isn’t it time we put the fun back in death?

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By Andrew McGinn, Staff Writer 2:46 PM Friday, September 18, 2009

Let’s go off-topic this week.

I’d like to talk about death.

The end.

The big sleep.

The dirt nap.

I try not to read the obituaries — I’ll tell you why in just a second — but when I do, I’ve become puzzled by the ways we dance around saying someone “died,” “is dead” or “won’t be coming back this time.”

Most of the obits we run every day plainly say, “So-and-so passed away Tuesday.”

But every so often, you’ll see the kind I’m talking about.

In this case, so-and-so didn’t die — they “went home to his Father” or “entered into eternal life.”

I’ve read where so-and-so is now sitting at the throne of Jesus or sitting at the hand of God.

Some can get quite elaborate.

People have been “of sound mind and spirit at the moment he departed this world.”

Someone else’s sun has just set.

Death remains the most sacred thing that can happen to a person and their family — whole religions are built around what happens at that final moment.

It’s mostly a humorless time, so I probably shouldn’t chuckle along with my co-worker whenever she sarcastically points out that “so-and-so is finally taking that chariot ride” in today’s paper.

Like I said, I try not to read the obituaries — mainly because I’m terrified myself of death.

As an unmedicated person with obsessive-compulsive disorder, I’ve almost died 100 times.

Well, in my head.

At any given time, I’m dying from every kind of cancer.

I once had AIDS, but got better.

I also miraculously survived hantavirus — a disease you get from inhaling the dust from dried mouse poop.

Don’t worry. Nobody else knows what it is, either.

But I could tell you the symptoms to look for, not to mention the exact type of rodent whose droppings you should avoid in basements, outbuildings or while hiking.

Surprisingly, my body proved to be resistant to Ebola.

I did, however, monitor avian flu and SARS.

Now I have a cough.

Could it be H1N1? Will the vaccine ever be here?!

Even with that fear, death isn’t remotely taboo in my family.

For a while, my dad went through a period of, uh, spiritual turmoil, and requested that, upon his death, his naked body be covered in red ochre and conch shells like a prehistoric man.

Since neither my brother or I were looking forward to smearing red ochre on the naked remains of our father, he’s gracefully agreed to be cremated. “Just plant a tree on me,” he says.

But think about that obituary: “So-and-so was covered in red ochre and returned to Mother Earth Thursday ... ”

Let’s face it, though, with so many people dying, you need that to make your obituary stand out.

Ever since my co-worker started pointing these things out on a near-daily basis, I’ve been more and more conscious about what I’d like my own obituary to say — that is, when necrotizing fasciitis finally gets the best of me.

I kinda like the ring of these (and feel free to steal any for yourself; just take my name off if you die before me):

• “Andrew McGinn technically died Tuesday ...”

• “If you see this man out walking around, shoot for the head, because he died Wednesday.”

• “Andrew McGinn is now hibernating.”

• “The family of Andrew McGinn can only hope he’s in a better place. We honestly just don’t know.”

• “Andrew McGinn left this world Friday with a maniacal cackle.”

• “Andrew McGinn jumped on the back of Pegasus Thursday and sailed over the rainbow of life.”

“Andrew McGinn is knock-knock-knockin’ on heaven’s door.” (OK, that one maybe seems too obvious.)

And my favorite:

• “Andrew McGinn is now receiving his final judgment.”

Contact this reporter at (937) 328-0352 or amcginn@coxohio.com.

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