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was whisked away to her final resting place. If not for the morphine she was on for pain, Patricia would have been sitting on the edge of her hospital bed, which she was, fanning herself like a queen who was planning a celebrated ball, instead of her funeral.

With no mention of the not so big amount of money she had for her funeral, Patricia told me the Funeral Home she had decided on. I was surprised she had even given this any thought. I was surprised because my mother always told me everything. Except that she had actually given thought to her inevitable death some day. She not only knew which one, she announced she had visited there. "I went there and I really loved it. They have a beautiful bathroom. Scott was so nice, it's a lovely place," she said. Scott? A beautiful bathroom? I asked, "Do you seriously care how the bathroom looks Mom?" "Well I did that day, but I really don't now," she responded.

Never one to be shy when it came to things she wanted, even if she couldn't afford it, which was always, Patricia gave me the details of her funeral. Intricate details I might add. And here I thought she hadn't given this part of her life any thought. She was reeling off all the things she wanted and I was taking notes like it was her party list. At the same time, I was crunching numbers in my head. Oh boy, this is going to be a lot of money, a real lot. How am I going to pull this off? I was lost in thought for a bit when my mother's voice pulled me back to earth. "I want a bagpiper, too," she said. I looked at her and simply said, "Wow!"

Patricia looked at me like I had ten heads and said, "Wow?" We started to laugh. We laughed long and we laughed hard, just like we always do when things are not going so well. My mother's funeral, expensive. My mother's laughter that day, priceless!

Learn more about this author, Cathy A Montville.
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