Briget Wandruff is a Social and Cultural Anthropologist, writer, and currently resides in New York. After experiencing the loss of a father from brain cancer, the words Right to Die and Death With Dignity have become common language. Today, Briget is pursuing a career in palliative and end of life care and supports the right to end-of-life choices.

A few years ago, my mother was going in for back surgery. She talked about the stacks of paper she had to sign releasing the hospital of any responsibility should she die as a result of, well, anything short of malpractice. My mother is a planner, and since my father's death in 1989 and her sister's death ten year later, Mother's been planning for her own death.

After her sister's death, we talked about last wishes. She sat me down in her Barcalounger and forced me to listen to her Funeral CD. On it was "A Little Bit of Rita" ("because it makes me happy"), "Greensleeves", and "Seventy-six Trombones" among others. ("I want to tell you what each song means to me.") The only thing I remember from that day some nine years ago was the bit about "A Little Bit of Rita".

Despite being Catholic she wanted to be cremated. Mother is claustrophobic — that was one reason — but moreover, some time back there were floods in the Southeast, caskets rose to the surface, and bones mixed with the bones of others. She's terrified of her bones mixing with other bones, or having her casket rise. She wants to be set adrift in the Gulf of Mexico, it's where she grew up, spent her teenage summers on Padre Island — good memories — and she still goes to Padre Island. ("But it's illegal to scatter ashes in the Gulf.") She proceeded over the years to investigate how her wish to be set adrift could be accomplished without me, her only child, ending up in jail or fined two thousand dollars I don't have. ("Not exactly something you can put on the company card.") More research, and on one of our calls she told me she found a biodegradable urn.

Mother's had a Living Will for as long as I can remember. She's adamant about her dignity, not wanting to be hooked up to machines, no tubes, no force feeding or hydrating, no resuscitation if doctors know by doing so it would only prolong her suffering. In giant letters, "NO HEROIC MEASURES." She'd like the Right to Die on her own terms.

Even after the years of open discussions and pre-planning, the preparations for her back surgery opened up a very possible reality that something might happen: she might die or live and lose what she defined as Dignity — it's very important for a person to define what dignity means to them. In preparation for the worst scenario it was clear that as much as we discussed last wishes there were still things to hammer out. Decisions about the house, the care of my step-fatherish type person, and what I could afford when she did die. If there's money left after everything she wants it to go to Ronald McDonald House charity. "The funeral is for you," she said, "I don't need one, I just want you to play my CD."

Mother survived the surgery. What we have after that experience and level of preparation is a clearer understanding about what she wants, how to handle her finances, the house and special items and her definition of Dignity. And the reality that no matter how much we talk about death and preparation, these remain scary conversations — at times a little absurd — but none-the-less must be had.

Mother and I came up with a plan for her remains. Despite last summer's oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico, Mother still wants to be set adrift. We've decided I'll put her remains in a beach bucket, mix her ashes in the sand and build a sandcastle out of her.

Have you had the talk? To start a conversation with your loved ones, you can lead off with, "I read the craziest thing today. A woman wants her daughter to take her ashes and use them to build a sandcastle…What do you want?"