There'll come a time when all of us must leave here
Then nothing sister Mary can do
Will keep me here with you
As nothing in this life that I've been trying
Could equal or surpass the art of dying
Do you believe me?
There'll come a time when all your hopes are fading
When things that seemed so very plain
Become an awful pain
Searching for the truth among the lying
And answered when you've learned the art of dying
"The Art of Dying"
George Harrison c.1970
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Nena Barton |
During our 50 years together, Nena and I had many serious discussions about life, death, funerals and burial.
Our personal decisions about how or if our lives would be acknowledged, recognized and the disposal of our bodies evolved over time.
Nena hated funerals!
In 1964 she got a furlough from the U.S. Army to Brownsville to attend the funeral of Geronimo Pena, her grandfather, the man who had raised her.
When a heated argument developed prior to the funeral among her aunts over the attendance of two children produced outside of marriage, one daughter from Matamoros, another from California, Nena decided to skip the funeral altogether, borrowed a car and drove to Boca Chica Beach, spending the day staring at the surf.
"I don't ever want a funeral!" she told herself.
In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, till thou return unto the ground; for out of it wast thou taken: for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.
Genesis 3:19
Somewhere around 1980, Nena read me the above scripture, informing me that she wanted neither a funeral or burial. I quickly agreed with no funeral, but it took me about six months to come to terms with cremation.
Nena also signed up for organ donation on her drivers license. I did not.
Years later, Nena read or heard about the possibility of donating her body to science, asking me to look into it. Eventually, somewhere during her four strokes she was signed up with no guarantee of being accepted.
Just to be safe, we kept an untouchable PayPal account for her cremation and mine.
When Nena died April 9, I fulfilled her wishes, made clear to me over thirty years earlier. I scattered her ashes along the surf of her beloved Boca Chica Beach as per her request.
As I told District Attorney Luis Saenz a few days after Nena's death: "She gave me a script and I followed it."
Saenz responded: "You'd better!"
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Duardo Paz-Martinez |
Nena and I have received withering criticism about our life decisions from a dried up piece of human excrement, blogging from McAllen about Brownsville people and topics.
After hinting that I'd made "hunnerds" of dollars selling Nena's body to science, Duardo changed his tune, finding out that's against federal law.
He closed his story with a comment reminding us of hundreds of anonymous, lewd comments received by this blog, all directed at Nena, after we shut down Duardo's old Google blog because of his personal attacks against my family.
Notice this last bit of juvenile braggadocio by Duardo:
[EDITOR’S NOTE:…We would have charmed Nena Barton to the point that we’re pretty sure she would have been our great pal. Husband Jim comes from another culture.
What an ignorant, lewd statement by this racist piece of McAllen shit! Nena, beyond loyal during our half century together, would not be charmed, amused or beguiled by this classless, clueless, pitiful piece of human garbage!