Isn't This My Funeral

A couple years ago:  ME- Who are you talking to, Mom?  MOM- These people are preparing for the funeral, and I'm telling them what to do.  ME- Who's funeral?  MOM- Well, this is my funeral isn't it?  Aren't I here in the casket?  I want one of my pink dresses to match the casket, but I don't have any shoes to match.  ME- You won't be needing shoes; your feet won't be showing.  MOM- Yes they will!  And I don't want my hands to show.  ME- Ok, Mom.  MOM- I want you to sing like you did at Dad's funeral.  ME-  I can't promise that, it might be too emotional for me.  MOM- Well then for sure, the girls.  ME-  I can't promise that either, but perhaps we can prerecord something and play it there.  MOM- Well, I guess, but I'd rather you do it in person.  ME- But this is not your funeral.  You're right here in your house, in your room, in your bed, and I'm right here with you.  MOM- Well, I'm ready to go; you know I have outlived my body.  I never thought I would live this long.  ME-  Maybe it's cause I needed you here, so how about staying a little longer.  MOM- I guess I don't have a choice, do I?  ME-  I love you Mom!