We never discussed it. Never thought about it. I recall one funeral growing up, but other than that, death wasn’t ever discussed.

It wasn’t taboo. It was simply like it didn’t exist.

Raised by two people who were ambivalent about the existence of God, discussion of the afterlife didn’t occur.

Women’s rights, nuclear proliferation, Reagan’s audacity on political issues… these were hotly debated. Actually, not debated. The home was an echo chamber of leftist thought. Most homes are echo chambers of parental views until teens discover their own ability to defend arguments, so it’s not surprising that my communist and socialist parents held court over a leftist regime.

But, as a mom, I now wonder why death wasn’t a topic? You cannot avoid it forever. People do die in unjustifiably awful ways. Or unfair ways. Or too early or too late.

As my mom is now coming to terms with the fact that she will need ongoing treatment for an illness, we had a discussion about the unfair nature of it.

I asked the crass question “Well, we’re all going to die eventually. How exactly did you think it was going to happen? Not saying you’re going to die of this, but you are going to die eventually. What makes this unfair?”

She didn’t have a vision for death. Didn’t think about it. But whatever it was, it didn’t include this. And about it being unfair, it still had nothing to do with death in her mind. It had to do with treatments and incapacity.

Still no conversation about death. She doesn’t want to think about it.

I don’t get it.

Maybe it’s because I’m Catholic. I love the teachings about death and suffering.

I talk about death all the time with my kids. Not talking about death is what causes people to cling to this life in unnatural ways. As if all we have to live for is life itself.

I’ll admit, the Catholic view of suffering was very foreign to me, having been raised as a Jew. Yet, I am goal oriented. I look not on this life as a test; God is not a giant quizmaster. I look on this life as preparation for the next. Catholicism is pretty darn clear on the goals of life and death.

I think George Lucas got it right in Episode IV. Obi Wan was able to do more good and affect more people when he became one with the force. His life continued in a new way – a New Hope.

So, my kids and I do discuss death frequently. They can tell you exactly what I want at my funeral. I want a parade with trombones. I want a party. I want a celebration of my life. I want people to share funny stories. I want laughter. Even if I’m young when I die. Ok, too late for that. Even if I’m middle aged when I die.

And I want hot dogs served.

I got gipped out of hot dogs when my daughter was born. I had bought frozen meals ahead so my husband wouldn’t have to cook after the home birth. After a few hours of labor, I popped out this gorgeous redhead and he made frozen pigs in a blanket for the toddler boys while I was upstairs nursing the baby.

And they ate them all. Every little pig. Gone.

No hot dogs for momma. The momma who had just birthed a 9lb 4oz redhead. No hot dogs for her. This story has lived on in my family for years. So, I want pigs in a blanket served at my funeral.

Death is a celebration of life and continuation of what is to come. We will forever live in the memories of those in the next generation. If we’re lucky, a generation or two after that.

But our thoughts, our lessons, and our deeds will carry on far longer. It isn’t our “legacy”; it is our ever-living essence.

Suffering and death simply help shape who our person, what our essence, is at the time of our death.

My essence will be generations of redheads who love pigs in a blanket.