Recently my husband paused as he heard the strains of a song on a television ad for a collection of religious hymns. “That's the song they played at my dad's funeral,” he said.

I, too, had recognized the song — “The Old Rugged Cross.”

“How did you know that? It a pretty obscure hymn.”

“Because they played it at Paul's funeral. The reason he wanted it was because they had played it at his father's funeral.”

The reason I knew that he wanted that song was because not long before my first husband Paul's death he had told me a few things regarding his wishes for his funeral. Prompted by his mother's remarriage after fifteen years of widowhood, we had each detailed what songs and speakers we would want at our funerals. This discussion came after we answered the all-important question, “If I died, would you remarry?”

The answer, by the way Paul, is “Yes, a couple of times.”

When I teach my Personal Records Management class, I select a couple and have one stand further back with two signs that say “Out to Lunch” and “On the Money.” Then I proceed to ask a series of questions of the spouse in front and the spouse in the back holds up one or the other of the signs, according to the answer. I usually start with the husband answering questions such as:

“Does your wife want charitable donations in lieu of flowers?”

“If so, to what charity would she like donations made?”

“Who would your wife like as speakers at her funeral?”

“Are there special musical numbers she would want played or sung?”

“Would she prefer a wooden casket or a metal one?”

“Would she like it ornate or simple?”

“Where would she like to be buried?”

This process often turns out to be quite humorous, at least for the rest of the people in attendance. “You want to bury me where?” I then have them switch places and the shoe is on the other foot. I am never sure if this process causes the people not in the hot seat to go home and discuss their preferences for a funeral service, but I am relatively sure that at least that one couple goes home and sorts a few things out.

It is not surprising to me that most people have some strong preferences for their funeral service. The problem is that most of us also have a strong preference for not talking about such things.

Are you frugal by nature? Your wife will have less trouble explaining your no-frills coffin to your family if she can say it was your request rather than suggesting “it is what Bill would have wanted” and hoping she doesn't look cheap.

Incidentally, to beat the, um, high cost of dying, try doing a web search using the words “wholesale coffins” and you'll be surprised what you find. There is one company that sends the bereaved a box of chocolates with the purchase of every coffin. That would probably win them my business. Another company will ship your coffin out ahead of time, cleverly disguised as a bookshelf. When the time comes, remove the shelves and voila!

For the record, since husband Thom reads my column, and since Meridian archives it for future reference, here are some of the things that come to mind regarding my funeral:

I want orchids and birds of paradise and plumerias.

I want a wooden casket with a peach-colored liner.

I would, like someone to sing the song, “I Believe.”

I have a poem I have set to music. It is here on my laptop computer, a Powerpoint production, illustrated with pictures by LDS artists. I would like it to be used at my funeral, and I want the words printed on the back of the program.

Thom knows where I want to be buried. The deed to the plot is with our other important papers. I have listed who I would like to have speak at my funeral, and when my grandmother died, I wrote out my abbreviated personal history on notebook paper using the tray table on the airplane ride home. Those papers are in a file marked “And should we die” in our lockbox.

There! I did it. It wasn't so hard. Sure, I had to fight down the feelings that if I talked about it, it might happen. But death isn't a maybe or a might. It is a certainty. We prepare for so many other things that are much less certain and leave these plans to chance or to the judgment of someone else.

Sometimes when I ask my husband about such things, he says, “I don't care. I'll be dead.” But what if you are there in spirit holding the “Out to Lunch” sign, wondering why they asked your brother you never got along with to eulogize you?

There is a peace that comes from knowing you have carried out a loved one's wishes, but if those wishes are never made known, your family will not have the satisfaction of knowing your funeral was the way you wanted it to be.

My husband has said that the day before my funeral he will hold a wake of sorts where people can come to an informal gathering and share their favorite piece of my writing. I like that idea. I want it to be an all-day affair. Bring your lunch. Dinner, too. Oh, what the heck — just grab the 72-hour kit.