In our modern society death has always been viewed as a bad thing with very little reason in many cases. When I was very young, maybe around the age of six or seven, someone who for the longest time I considered family passed away. I always called him uncle, but in reality he was more my great great uncle which also meant it was no surprise to a lot of people when he passed away. Even though it was expected many people still grieved.
   

I was told to remember him from when he lived not from when he died. I remember only a few things,like how he always ate these disgusting oatmeal cookies which always tasted kind of like leaves and sand grinded together. I remember his last birthday party with quite a bit of clarity. He had been stuck in a hospital for the longest time due to what I believe was a weak heart. It smelled of formaldehyde and was much too noisy with plates clanking and everyone talking to everyone else at once. He seemed to like it well enough,or at least he found it better than sitting in bed alone with tubes up his nose.The final thing I can really remember about him was his house. My grandmother would bring me up there a lot and if the mind of a very small child hasn’t turned its proportions into a distorted mess then it was rather tall, about three stories with a proper attic to walk around in. The house was also quite slender as I can clearly remember the stairs to the front door were not enough to fit me and my grandmother side by side. If I remember correctly  it was either pitch black or such a dark blue that the difference would be meaningless to debate.
     

On the day of his funeral I made a promise to go hang out with a friend as I had forgotten about the funeral that was planned for that evening. When the car came by to pick me up and my brother asked if I was coming I used the excuse that I promised to be with a friend to get out of it. The anger in both his face and voice were obvious as I can still remember flinching a bit at the yelling I expected to start rushing out of his mouth. No yelling came and I was left at my house, I never did go meet with my friend on that day as I instead layed on my couch while resting next to my dog.I laid there staring into the white ceiling above me and remembering what he was like before I eventually passed out.
     

I was later given a few details about the funeral and I shall try to describe it as it was described to me. It was called an irish funeral though now that I think about I’m pretty sure they just meant that they used our heritage as an excuse to drink at a funeral. I was also told that it was supposed to be more of a party, then a funeral. I remember however, that by the time everyone got home and I had woken up no one was smiling they all seemed to be rather tired,and not in the we partied too hard way but more in the we just want to get this thing over with way.It’s probably just my imagination but I always remember everything looking as if it was done in gray scale instead of what the world should have looked like. Even the weather was dreary as it had started to rain so it could join in on the mood. The only thing I thought of it back then was that I was kind of glad that I found a way out of going. 
     

Thinking back on all of these things I have made a decision which has changed very little during the past few years. Death is not a bad thing and it is never should be treated as such. Death is the reason why things are able to grow on this planet and should be celebrated as happily as we celebrate life. When I do pass whether it be through natural or unnatural means I  will not allow my funeral to be a sad thing. I shall make sure that when people come they won’t leave looking like they are the ones who have begun to decompose and rot, instead I shall insure that they leave more alive than when they came. So that my death can do it’s job in creating more life. I hope that in doing so others will do the same.