The Oppenheimer Report 5/30/11

There was a big discussion at the dinner table the other night about funeral expenses. Weddings and funerals are serious money drains. Last summer we buried my aunt and the unveiling will be coming up this summer. It’s now time to order her inscription, which will appear under her husband’s. Apparently, there is a vast difference in the cost of engraving work from one engraver to another, and one place that had quoted on the inscription work several months ago suddenly raised their prices. Instead of six bucks per letter, the cost would now be seven bucks, and this seemed like a big bump to us. In this economy, at a time when people are scrambling to find work, it didn’t seem logical that an inscriber should be raise his prices, certainly not by 15%. It’s not as if his prices are tied to the price of gold. Another engraver was offering the work for six bucks per word, with a $900 ceiling. Does this mean I could get the Gettysburg Address engraved on my stone for $900? I guess the letters would have to be pretty small. In keeping with the general absurdity of some of our dinner conversations, this engraving subject rapidly deteriorated into a discussion of the various pecuniary considerations in gravestone engraving. Does a comma cost as much as a semi colon? Shouldn’t a period be less than a question mark? How about apostrophes, is there some kind of a two for one deal? September is the most expensive month in which to die; it’s much more considerate to croak in May. And think about all the people with hyphenated last names. When you combine a hyphenated last name like Abramowitz-Oppenheimer and two Septembers and you start to talk about some serious coin. I think given this seemingly capricious escalation in the cost of engraving, I might go for decals. Whose going to complain, the neighbors?




To continue on this thread, there are so many other funeral expenses; perpetual care for instance. Perhaps they should call it eternal care instead. Perpetual care is essentially an open ended landscaping contract wherein one pays an up front lump sum to the cemetery and thereafter the gravesite is to be maintained by the cemetery. In theory this makes sense, but “perpetual” basically means as long as anybody remembers that there is a contract. At our family plot in Buffalo, I went over one day and noticed that the graves were a mess, overrun with weeds and overgrown ivy. Some of the stones were not even visible. I dug up (sorry, bad choice of words) our perpetual care contract for the five or six family members in our burial plot. After several conversations with the cemetery, we straightened things out, but had I not complained, I am quite sure nothing would have been done. Cremation seems to be the a viable alternative to these landscaping issues. While we have a lovely family plot, which overlooks the serene beauty of the Scajaquada Expressway, my dad did not believe in taking up a lot of space, and he elected to be cremated. He’s in a crypt, or as he liked to call it, his home away from home. I remember he paid for it on time, and with his typical irreverence, he joked about the monthly no-interest payments. I also distinctly remember the day my sister and I were presented with his incinerated remains to be placed in the crypt. That little procedure fell under the heading of “internment fee,” and he was unceremoniously handed to us in a cardboard box. At first we were both a little surprised. I thought at the very least they would provide something a little more permanent, like a plastic milk jug with “Jim Oppenheimer” written on it ... something. If I’d have known, I would have brought a coffee can, but I guess the cardboard box was fine. Actually, that was the perfect container for my dad, because he was as unpretentious as they come. Besides, the remains are hidden behind a stone, and no one ever sees them. The only problem with the crypt is that sometimes your neighbors paste tacky photos to the wall, or worse yet, plastic flowers. I think Will and Kate Pez dispensers would be nice. When we do finally self destruct as a species, as I’m pretty sure we someday will, does it really matter whether Dad’s in a terra cotta urn from Pottery Barn or a cardboard box? A propos to nothing, did anybody you know disappear into heaven during the recent, and much anticipated Rapture? That would certainly preclude the burial concerns. I feel bad for all those folks who sold all their worldly possessions in anticipation of their one way ticket to heaven, only to be left shrugging on earth. I am reminded of that wonderful scene in the film “Little Big Man” wherein the Indian Chief declares “It is a good day to die,” and goes out into the woods to await his demise, only to be disappointed by his unwanted longevity.


For those of you who might perhaps be offended by this cavalier discussion about death, make no mistake, I take my mortality seriously. I’m just a lot more concerned about living my LIFE to the fullest. My heart goes out to all those poor souls who were plucked from the earth in that horrible Joplin tornado, and whose bodies have yet to be recovered. And I get that it’s about closure. Recover the body, say goodbye to the vehicle, but remember the soul. Frankly, out of all the Westerners, I think the Irish have the right idea. When I go, I want all the funeral money spent on a big party. Incinerate me after all the useable organs have been extracted (not the liver!), put me in a cardboard box, and stick me next to Dad. I think there’s room in there for me. What does it really matter if you are buried in a pyramid or a cardboard box. None of us really knows whether what follows is darkness or light, but does it really matter what you stick in the ground to advertise your existence?

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2011 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED