On a brisk day at a restaurant outside Chicago, Deb Robertson sat with her teenage grandson to talk about her death. She’ll probably miss his high school graduation. She declined the extended warranty on her car. Sometimes she wonders who will be at her funeral. Those things don’t frighten her much. The 65-year-old didn’t cry when she learned two months ago that the cancerous tumors in her liver were spreading, portending a tormented death. But later, she received a call. A bill moving... Read this story
