If I ever die, I only want people praising me for my wonderful hair and for the ability to recycle my limited wardrobe so often without it seeming to have been quite so often. Everything else is considered completely tacky. They can also discuss the weather; though only in very hushed tones and they have to mention my wonderful hair in that too. But everything else is off-limits.
Oh, and by no means is anyone allowed to look at my widowed wife until after her corpse has finished burning on my funeral pyre. After which, they are only permitted to say the word “Fttt!” while starring directly into the sun. Those are my orders.