Odd request.

"Grandma called last night," mom said at dinner. Those words are generally followed by some anecdote or another, usually highly amusing. I continued eating.

"She said she wants you to write her obituary."


Chew. Chew-chew-chew.

"She wants me to write what?" I responded, perhaps unsure of what I was hearing. Please keep in mind my grandma is not on her deathbed. Planning her obituary is not something we often do at the dinner table.

"That's what she said," mom replied, matter-of-factly. "'Krista's such a good writer,' she says. She said she has all the information you need. She just wants you to write it."

I was busy processing the fact that Grandma has her obituary information on hand. Is it, like, in her wallet? Is this something I should prepare for myself? An "in case I die, here is what I need in my obituary" document?

And writing an obituary? That's pressure.

"Well, tell her I charge," I concluded. "By the word."

"And that you collect in advance," dad chimed in.

"Good call."

Hey, if I've got to write my own grandmother's obituary, I've got to come out ahead somehow.