In any case, their earthly containment vessels have for the most part been left right here, six feet under, minus the watery bits. This way they more or less stay put where people can venerate them, if they have a mind to, although nothing lasts forever. I don't know where the oldest known marked gravesite is, but it can't be that old, geologically speaking. Things happen. Progress occurs, backhoes come by, tectonic plates shift, and what with one thing and another you're going to lose track. My own parents had battles with cancer, which I'm not prepared to qualify; I don't know what a cowardly battle would look like. I do know that the other side had most of the bullets, and now they're both interred somewhere in some form. And I know more or less where they are, or can look it up, and I think there was a marker put down, although I'm not sure, and I admit I have not venerated them in an way, except in my thoughts with great gratitude on a daily basis. I'm glad other people keep up graveyards, though. I love to walk in them and examine the headstones. It's peaceful to be among all those people resting for eternity.
It's a little less disruptive in Germany, where you may remain at rest for twenty years before the bill comes due. But if your relatives decline, your spot is up for grabs, although you will not be evicted. Someone else is going to get shoveled in, and whether you like it or not, you're not going to be on top.
It was probably an easy call. There's the money, and all the upkeep, and then there's the persistent infestation of neo-Nazis come to do their version of veneration, and no amount of petunias can brighten that shit up. Adolf Hitler himself is not available to venerate. Showing the same lack of perseverance as his parents, he killed himself in 1944 after a most unfortunate thirty years of procrastinating. He was then doused with petrol and set afire but refused to stay lit, knowing, perhaps, that this was not where he was supposed to burn.