Parental guidance required.

A couple of weeks ago, I was sitting on the couch in the freshly painted living room of the house I grew up, with a small stack of papers on the couch beside me. This is a couch that almost always makes me want to take a nap - it's so cushion-y and soft. I wish they'd had it when I lived there, instead of the scratchy brown plaid couches I remember.

The papers were life insurance paperwork for a policy my parents had purchased in 1998 that is probably not necessary. My mom said it's a "burial policy." We discovered that they might have duplicate coverage for their funerals but I was unsure, because no where on the papers were the words "burial policy." I have to do some follow up to make sure, but they can possibly stop paying on one of them. I don't know where we all were financially, 15 years ago, but I made sure my mother understands that at this point in all our lives, between myself and my three siblings, I think we can afford their funerals without her having to worry about it.

During our discussion of all this, which, by the way, was kind of surprisingly lighthearted, my mom left the room and came back with the pages from the catalog that show the urns she and my dad have chosen for their ashes. They decided against buying a space in a cemetery; I learned yesterday that their final resting places will be... wherever we chose them to be.

The urns are beautiful. Mom's has doves on it, and my dad's is plain, but nicely finished. I'm sure he was impressed with the workmanship. I'm sure either I or one of my siblings will find an appropriate place to display them, if and when the time comes. I guess there's really no "if," is there.

My mom left the room to put the papers away, and my dad and I were left alone.

Me: Do me a favor, and don't be like those people who, when one dies the other one goes within the week.

My dad: What? (Laughs)

Me: We're going to need a least one parent present at all times.