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My family has always tried to find a bit of humor in almost everything we've had to face in life. It isn't always easy, but it certainly helps to make things feel better, if only for a moment. My mother didn't try to be funny; she just was. Even when she was facing her last days here on earth and making her funeral arrangements with me, she made me laugh. It was good for my soul.

My mom, Patricia was not a wealthy woman. No sir far from it. She didn't know that, though. She lived her entire life thinking that money grew on trees. My Father use to say, "If money grew on trees, all our branches would be bare." Her manner of thinking would be no different when it came time to plan her funeral two weeks before she passed over. Patricia believed she was rich right up until her last breath.

"We have to talk about the undertaker." That's what she said to me that day. She was a pretty modern woman all her life and at 76, she was still quite liberated. I was stunned by the word "undertaker." I told her that was an outdated term and it was now called a funeral director. She said she really didn't give a hoot what the proper term wasshe was ready to make her preparations.

Patricia retired from a state job she held for half her life. She had exceptional health benefits, but an inadequate life insurance policy by today's standards, which I knew would not cover debt she was leaving behind, never mind a funeral. It was no secret that funeral expenses were off the chart. My Mom had made absolutely no provisions for a funeral. She talked about it many times, but just never got around to it because she never planned on dying. You have to remember, she thought she was rich, too.

Talking to my beloved mother about her funeral was something I dreaded and tried to avoid. I knew she was dying, she knew she was dying. We just didn't want talk about it, as if that would stop what was happening. We had to get this done, no matter how much it pained us to do so. This was the hardest part of the death process for me. I needed to know what my Mother wanted in the end, yet I didn't know how we were going to be able to speak the words.

After Patricia said she didn't give a hoot whether it was a funeral director or an undertaker, I knew there was no turning back. We were making the arrangements. To my surprise, my Mom was not the least bit timid about discussing her funeral. I will always be grateful for this. In fact, she was almost nonchalant about how she wanted everything to be before she

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