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Personally, I think being buried sucks. You occupy unnecessary space that could have been used more fruitfully, like maybe for a bistro or a bar. That’s where mourners gravitate to after a funeral anyway.

The Population Reference Bureau estimates that ever since our species began, 108 billion people have roamed the earth. If you exclude the 8 billion sods like you and me that are still alive, we have 100 billion dead. Of these, around 80 billion are estimated to have been buried through ritualistic funerals.

Now, I’m sure you won’t sue me if I said that an average corpse occupies an area of 6 sq.ft. That would make the area covered by corpses all over the world as on date to be a total of around 29000 sq.kms. Considering extra amenities, spacing, pathways, etc, the final figure could well be 112000 sq.kms.

Imagine 112000 sq.kms of prime real estate, usually at the heart of town, blocked by a bunch of skeletal remains. If you’re already dead, would you give a flying fuck what happened to your body, your tits, your dicky, the end of your alimentary canal? Nope, you wouldn’t. How would you? You’re dead, remember? And if you had MAGA cousins and uncles sharing the crypt, forget it, you’d want outa there.

If we carry on burying our dead, pretty soon there won’t be any place left to live in. You might have an address like, “Next to Plot:21, Row:16, St TiddlyTwat Cemetery”.

I believe the best thing is cremation. Your next of kin are left with just a tiny tiny urn of ashes. If they didn’t care much about you, they can leave you in the attic or if they did, they can tip it over, sprinkle it in their vegetable garden and grow mommy peppers. They could then put the urn ta use, like a flower pot or sumpn. Personally, I would contract with a Hollywood masseur ta massage me into Scarlett Johanssen’s jiggledipoos.

Then there is the pathos. I was in a cemetery in Pointe Claire that had neatly laid headstones, all of the exact same style and size. All around were exquisitely manicured lawns. I realized it was a Military cemetery.

I was ambling down the rows, looking for an angle to take photos from, when I came upon a middle-aged woman lying prostrate on her stomach, her head resting on a step in front of the headstone. Baskets of flowers, a bit wilted, were all around. She was alone and at that time of the day, the cemetery was deserted.

I figured it must be a week after the funeral, the visitations, the suppers and lunches spent with consoling friends and relatives and now at last she was by herself, to be with that one human being that had always mattered the most.

The woman’s head was tilted to one side, eyes unblinking, staring at me approaching. Staring but not noticing my presence. Her arms were wrapped around the headstone in an attempt at an embrace. A large butterfly fluttered in and landed on her hair but she didn’t seem to notice.

The epitaph was succinct, just like all the others there. It read….

B60 926 153

Cpl René G Fournier

Royal Canadian Armoured Corps

11 March 1997 – 20 September 2021

When the woman sensed that I was about to kneel, sit next to her, offer my condolences, her eyes blinked for the first time. With considerable effort, her lips formed a smile and she said in a whisper, “Mèrci, tout va bien” (Thank you, I’m fine)

It was an overwhelming sight, the grief all-pervading, unimaginable. I had taken a photo her prostrate body clutching the headstone while I was approaching, still at a distance from her, but I cannot bring myself to upload it here. It is just too personal. I would be betraying her. In fact I didn’t take any more photos that day, so touched was I. I have uploaded pics from other cemeteries instead.

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The question is whether a graveyard is a place of solace, whether it is a place where one can feel connected and find closure, the way the woman thought it would bring her inner tranquility.

Is that the only way? Wouldn’t the dark and desolate environs of a cemetery be a grim reminder of tragedy and deter her from moving forward?

And what about the other elephant in the room, the environmental concerns with the chemicals used in preparation of the corpses. More than a million gallons of formaldehyde get into the soil every year, besides the menthol, the phenol and the glycerin. What would that do to the ground water?

And then there are traditions around the world, cultures that actually celebrate a death with wine, feasting and dance, like in New Orleans which has “Jazz funerals”. Before the funeral, the jazz band plays sombre music and after, it ramps up into rollicking dance music and has mourners having the time of their lives. You might have watched one in the start of the James Bond film, “Live and Let Die”.

I understand that for some, the idea of breaking into dance at a funeral might look repugnant but either way, we have to move on with our lives and let just the memories continue to console us and the best way is to not leave a physical trace and that can only be by cremation. A small urn of ashes does not reopen wounds.

People who cremate are happier than people who bury. How’s that for a slogan?

The only thing going for burials is the pristine beauty of cemeteries in Quebec – the lush green, the headstones and the epitaphs. And that’s why I have the urge to take graveyard photos.