It was a difficult subject to bring before his aged mother, but John felt that he must: "Mom, you're no longer a spring chicken and you do need to think ahead of what'll happen in the future. Why don't we make arrangements about when...you know...when...you pass on?"
The mother didn't say anything, just sat there staring ahead.
"I mean, Mom, like...how do you want to finally go? Do you want to be buried? Cremated?"
There was yet another long pause. Then the mother looked up and said, "Son, why don't you surprise me?"