Aggregate Death

The Green Burial of Lorrie Otto

 

Lorrie Otto - godmother of natural landscaping movement

Lorrie Otto

If you’ve been reading my blog for a while you’ll know that I believe in Green Burial for both sustainability and philosophical reasons.

One of the philosophical reasons is that it allows family and friends to touch death more intimately by taking the funeral and burial responsibility away from the “professionals” (me) and placing those responsibilities in the hands of the bereaved.

Most of us have an imaginative or experiential idea of what a “traditional” burial looks like; but few of us have a mental image of what a green burial looks like.  The following eight photos are of Lorrie Otto’s green burial.  Lorrie was an environmentalist in life and death.  These photos are reposted with the permission of the Green Burial Council.

Photo credit: Brian Flowers and the Meadow Natural Burial Ground at Greenacres in Ferndale, Washington
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Father asks internet to edit this photo of his late baby daughter

For those of you who aren’t familiar with Reddit, it is a very active community-run social network.  Users submit content and other users interact with said content.

On Sunday, a father asked this of the Reddit community:    1

 

 

Here is the original photo:

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Here is Reddit’s beautiful response:

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Mr Steffel concluded (the father): “I just wanted a picture and what I received was a lot of wonderful drawings and pictures. I couldn’t be happier.”

 

The very, very bad death of Robert-Francois Damiens

The Frenchmen Damiens attempted to assassinate King Louis XV, inflicting, however, only a slight dagger wound.  He was, of course, condemned to death … albeit a very, very bad death.  

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William Wallace (played by Mel Gibson) getting drawn and quartered in Braveheart.

From Foucault’s Discipline and Punish:

***This account of Damien’s death — to say the least — is very disturbing.***

On 1 March 1757 Damiens the regicide was condemned “to make the amende honorable before the main door of the Church of Paris”, where he was to be “taken and conveyed in a cart, wearing nothing but a shirt, holding a torch of burning wax weighing two pounds”; then, “in the said cart, to the Place de Grève, where, on a scaffold that will be erected there, the flesh will be torn from his breasts, arms, thighs and claves with red-hot pincers, his right hand, holding the knife with which he committed the said parricide, burnt with sulphur, and, on those places where the flesh will be torn away, poured molten lead, boiling oil, burning resin, wax and sulphur melted together and then his body drawn and quartered by four horses and his limbs and body consumed by fire, reduced to ashes and his ashes thrown to the winds” (Pièces originales…, 372-4).

“Finally, he was quartered,” recounts the Gazette d’Amsterdam of 1 April 1757. “This last operation was very long, because the horses used were not accustomed to drawing; consequently, instead of four, six were needed; and when that did not suffice, they were forced, in order to cut off the wretch’s thighs, to sever the sinews and hack at the joints…

“It is said that, though he was always a great swearer, no blashemy escaped his lips; but the excessive pain made him utter horrible cries, and he often repeated: ‘My God, have pity on me! Jesus, help me!’ The spectators were all edified by the solicitude of the parish priest of St Paul’s who despite his great age did not spare himself in offering consolation to the patient.”

Bouton, an officer of the watch, left us his account: “The sulphur was lit, but the flame was so poor that only the top skin of the hand was burnt, and that only slightly. Then the executioner, his sleeves rolled up, took the steel pincers, which had been especially made for the occasion, and which were about a foot and a half long, and pulled first at the calf of the right leg, then at the thigh, and from there at the two fleshy parts of the right arm; then at the breasts. Though a strong, sturdy fellow, this executioner found it so difficult to tear away the pieces of flesh that he set about the same spot two or three times, twisting the pincers as he did so, and what he took away formed at each part a wound about the size of a six-pound crown piece.

“After these tearings with the pincers, Damiens, who cried out profusely, though without swearing, raised his head and looked at himself; the same executioner dipped an iron spoon in the pot containing the boiling potion, which he poured liberally over each wound. Then the ropes that were to be harnessed to the horses were attached with cords to the patient’s body; the horses were then harnessed and placed alongside the arms and legs, one at each limb.

“Monsieur Le Breton, the clerk of the court, went up to the patient several times and asked him if he had anything to say. He said he had not; at each torment, he cried out, as the damned in hell are supposed to cry out, ‘Pardon, my God! Pardon, my Lord.’ Despite all this pain, he raised his head from time to time and looked at himself boldly. The cords had been tied so tightly by the men who pulled the ends that they caused him indescribable pain. Monsieur le [sic] Breton went up to him again and asked him if he had anything to say; he said no. Several confessors went up to him and spoke to him at length; he willingly kissed the crucifix that was held out to him; he opened his lips and repeated: ‘Pardon, Lord.’

“The horses tugged hard, each pulling straight on a limb, each horse held by an executioner. After a quarter of an hour, the same ceremony was repeated and finally, after several attempts, the direction of the horses had to be changed, thus: those at the arms were made to pull towards the head, those at the thighs towards the arms, which broke the arms at the joints. This was repeated several times without success. He raised his head and looked at himself. Two more horses had to be added to those harnessed to the thighs, which made six horses in all. Without success.

“Finally, the executioner, Samson, said to Monsieur Le Breton that there was no way or hope of succeeding, and told him to ask their Lordships if they wished him to have the prisoner cut into pieces. Monsieur Le Breton, who had come down from the town, ordered that renewed efforts be made, and this was done; but the horses gave up and one of those harnessed to the thighs fell to the ground. The confessors returned and spoke to him again. He said to them (I heard him): ‘Kiss me, gentlemen.’ The parish priest of St Paul’s did not dare to, so Monsieur de Marsilly slipped under the rope holding the left arm and kissed him on the forehead. The executioners gathered round and Damiens told them not to swear, to carry out their task and that he did not think ill of them; he begged them to pray to God for him, and asked the parish priest of St Paul’s to pray for him at the first mass.

“After two or three attempts, the executioner Samson and he who had used the pincers each drew out a knife from his pocket and cut the body at the thighs instead of severing the legs at the joints; the four horses gave a tug and carried off the two thighs after them, namely, that of the right side first, the other following; then the same was done to the arms, the shoulders, the arm-pits and the four limbs; the flesh had to be cut almost to the bone, the horses pulling hard carried off the right arm first and the other afterwards.

“When the four limbs had been pulled away, the confessors came to speak to him; but his executioner told them that he was dead, though the truth was that I saw the man move, his lower jaw moving from side to side as if he were talking. One of the executioners even said shortly afterwards that when they had lifted the trunk to throw it on the stake, he was still alive. The four limbs were untied from the ropes and thrown on the stake set up in the enclosure in line with the scaffold, then the trunk and the rest were covered with logs and faggots, and fire was put to the straw mixed with this wood.

“…In accordance with the decree, the whole was reduced to ashes. The last piece to be found in the embers was still burning at half-past ten in the evening. The pieces of flesh and the trunk had taken about four hours to burn. The officers of whom I was one, as also was my son, and a detachment of archers remained in the square until nearly eleven o’clock.

“There were those who made something of the fact that a dog had lain the day before on the grass where the fire had been, had been chased away several times, and had always returned. But it is not difficult to understand that an animal found this place warmer than elsewhere” (quoted in Zevaes, 201-14).

Every funeral directors nightmare just happened in Bucks County

Every funeral director has had a moment when some mechanical failure has caused a brief moment of near hysteria.  A couple months ago I experienced a gurney failure while I attempted to load a deceased at the back end of a hospital.  The gurney that was loaded with a deceased’s body wouldn’t collapse and for nearly ten minutes I attempted to fix it while bystanders walked by.  I couldn’t fix it so I was forced to pick the deceased up in my arms and place it in the back of my pick-up van.

IT.  WAS.  SO.  EMBARRASSING.

So, when I saw this news in my feed, I couldn’t help but feel empathy when the coroner’s rear gate of this coroner’s pick-up van apparently malfunctioned.  So, if you read my blog, Mr. Coroner, I feel for ya.

Bucks County officials are investigating how a gurney, with what appeared to be a deceased person on it, fell out of  a coroner’s vehicle and ended up on busy Street Road Friday afternoon.

County spokesman Chris Edwards confirmed there is an investigation into the incident, which happened in Lower Southampton around noon yesterday.

Jerry Bradley was waiting at the traffic light coming out of the shopping center that holds a Panera Bread and Starbucks when he saw the gurney come out of the green county-owned vehicle and end up in the lane of travel.

“At first I thought someone was pulling a prank, but traffic was just driving around,” Bradley told LevittownNow.com Saturday morning.

Bradley said it appeared there was a body in a bag and wrapped in a sheet strapped to the gurney. A photo snapped by the man appears to show just that.

To read the entire story click HERE.

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Credit: Jerry Bradley/Submitted

A letter to a dead girlfriend

I found this letter, oddly enough, on Craigslist.  Anything on the internet always has the potential to be fake.  That potential only increases when it’s on Craigslist.

I have idea if this is real or fake.  And I have no way of finding out.  Read it for yourself.

A letter to my dead girlfriend – m4w

It has been a rough year darling. The ethereal power of Craig’s List will get this message to you I am sure, like in some sort of cheesy 80s movie.Well back to the last year, you of course died at the beginning of it which put things to a sour start. I spent last night with your mum and dad, we went to that Italian place in Wicker Park, who on the surface seem to be coping. I had everyone get together for my 25th which went well, your ladies are on top form and I think some engagements are brewing. Ellen is turning up the heat on Steve who will soon be forced down to one knee as you predicted.Last weekend I finally took the step of cleaning out your clothes from the closet, which is very barren now. I invited your friends over to take your what they liked, it was an awkward session. I think they took them more as a favor to me than anything else. Liz cried when we pulled out all of your shoes, Miranda joined in and then Catherine broke down. It was strange to stand in our bedroom surrounded by three crying girls. I made a joke about them crying for joy at the prospect of some free Manolo Balhniks which they didn’t seem to find very funny.A few girls have put the moves on and as you know picking up women is not a forte of mine. It seems the grieving boyfriend seems to be a good angle. Who knew! I went on one date and spent it talking about you, the poor girl. You would have found it quite witty I think. No other dates to report, I am going against your orders to move on for now.I found one of those hair tie things that somehow managed to squeeze into every crevice in the apartment. It was under the bed. I sat on the floor holding it and cried. Until then I had held everything together but it just all came flooding out.Every morning when I wake up I forget for a fraction of a second that you are gone and I reach for you. All I ever find is the cold side of the bed. My eyes settle on the picture of us in Paris, on the bedside table, and I am overjoyed that even though the time was brief I loved you and you loved me.Love,P.

 

 

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