she tried.

My mother and I were talking about death today, specifically mine. No, I'm not deathly ill, as you can tell by my tone. Were I deathly ill, I would probably start with something more like, "So, uh, listen, you guys...I hope you weren't attached to this blog or anything..."

No, it was some work thing, where I had to sign over my tiny retirement fund to a next of kin in case I shimmied off this mortal coil. So I signed it over to my mother, since I am an old maid. This conversation led to how I wanted her to dispose of my remains, assuming I did not go out in a super cool Earhart-esque incident.

I expressed a desire to be cremated. This is something I have thought about, mostly due to having a rather morbid high school english teacher. I've also written my own epitaph due to that class ("She tried."). And while cremation in itself was kind of creepy to think about at first, since it didn't seem to be in fashion in rural North Carolina. But after a while, I could no longer deny that cremation seemed to be both the sensible (cheaper, space-efficient) and the romantic (scattering to the wind and all that) option.

My mother marveled at my practicality while considering my own death, and then became very practical while considering her youngest child's death.

"Can I get that in writing? Or, could you at least tell someone else so that I'll have someone else to verify it for me? Because if that's what you want, then that's what I'll try to do, but someone else might try to fight me on it, so if that's what you want, we should get it in writing or something."

So there you go.