I always joke to my friends about having the most random collection of items I can think of thrown into my coffin just to mess with future archaeologists. Since I plan on being cremated it is entirely a joke—and since I’ve always thought of funerals as more for the comfort of the living than that of the deceased, I asked my roommate what she would put in my grave.
She surprised me by saying a quilt I made this summer with my mother. It’s just big enough to curl up under, soft on the back and it’s made out of old T-shirts that don’t fit any more. Among them, a shirt from a Drama festival from High School, a Tokyo Police Club t-shirt I bought at one of their concerts, and this “Spoilt” shirt, all of which have shrunk too much in the wash to be worn. In true procrastinator fashion, I finished it the night before I got in the car and made the 12 hour drive to Victoria.
And I was confused a little by this—why a blanket?—but when I thought more about it, that blanket is one of the things in my house that relaxes me. There’s not much better than curling up under a blanket with a cup of tea and mowing down pixellated enemies on my roommate’s PS3. Not to mention, I’m proud of that thing. And I had a good time making it with my mother, constantly taking out stitches because we kept messing up.
Who wants to be delivered to the afterlife in their fanciest clothes anyway? Give me a pair of pyjamas, a soft sweater, a mug of tea and a nice blanket, and I’m set.
