It always makes me think of the scene in Frederico Fellini's Satyricon when the Roman character above (to the right!) decides he is going to organise his own funeral before he has actually died, because he doesn't want to miss out on the banquet. He lies on a large couch as everyone around him eats, drinks and sings his praises whilst lamenting his departure, with tears streaming down his face at the thought of his own passing.
Somehow, I don't think it works like that. What happens after we have gone is none of our damned business!