Me wife's auld Da died today at the ripe age of 97. No condolences, please, he was a cold bastid who's last words to her who had taken responsibility for him during his last pitiful eight years were, "Go home!", followed 30 minutes later when she announced she'd be leaving, with, "Good!"
The news is that his carcass is to be the inaugural "conservation burial" at our co-op farm. He won't be interred six feet under, as that is not conducive to re-assimiliation into the soil ecosystem via microbes and bugs and bacteria and fungi. It has been projected, according to our regeneration business plan, that in a couple of years he will be living happily in grasses and trees and assorted microbiology as the goddess Gaia (not his false Christian God) intends for all her children, aberrant in life, or not. Ergo, no marker will stand over the hole he will be buried in, since he won't be in that particular location for long.
You never change things by fighting the existing reality. To change something, build a new model that makes the old model obsolete. R. Buckminster Fuller