Funny in life, hysterical in death.

Many years ago, my grandmother was dying. And she knew it. (Sorry, this isn't the funny part.) She had breast cancer and fought the best she could for years, until, after a double mastectomy, she was told it was just over.

She embraced the experience: did a lot of things she wanted to do, continued to live as though there was nothing wrong, increased her faith, and cigarette consumption. She selected her burial plot, planned her funeral supper, and selected her casket.

I wasn't there but I was told, she insisted on *getting into the casket* to make sure it was comfortable enough to carry her into the afterlife. I'm sure the funeral director was horrified. But this was a woman who took her dog to "free kid's pictures" day at the Sears Portrait studio, and made a scene until they agreed to photograph him. Par for the course I guess. (Yes, that was the funny bit.)

But she had it right. If you choose how to live, you should be able to choose how to die. Personally, I want to be cremated and unceremoniously chucked into Lake Michigan. Done and done. But after seeing this, my plans may change...