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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