By lunch we had loosened up, like people standing outside a funeral home during a viewing “for some fresh air.” We talked about our last conversation with Margaret or marveled that we couldn’t remember when we had it. “You just never know, do you?” I have to admit I almost felt proud that I’d actually known Margaret.
Other things discussed:
The viewing: Would there be one? What would there be to view?
What we wanted done with us when we die: The usual “just stick me in a garbage bag and put me on the curb” won. Runner up was “shove me in the freezer” (with a nervous laugh). No one wanted an open casket. I want a nice Episcopal service with my favorite hymns and scriptures.
Whether there would be more break-ins that would go bad and whether we should get security systems or would signs that said we had security systems be just as good? The consensus was that Margaret had left her door unlocked, which we never do. So we’re all safe.
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