Pin It The pale green curtain was pulled across the doorway for some semblance of privacy in the chapel of Moon Funeral Parlor this afternoon. My dad had left to discuss the varied details of the memorial service with the director while I rubbed down the coffin with furniture polish.
The lemony-pine scent wafted over the pews of the silent chapel, and the wood radiated with a golden sheen in the incandescent lights from the ceiling.
The silence of that chapel was brazen—almost ominous.
I gazed wordlessly for a few moments at the box constructed of pine lath before me, and found myself having a conversation with Mom. I was wondering if she would be comfortable when she would be placed in it tomorrow morning—two days before the funeral was to take place.
I slid the lid open
The interior was carefully lined with a patterned, white blanket; velvety to the touch. A cushion had been placed at the underside of the casket; I felt along the base, relishing the softness.
I removed my shoes and—very carefully—climbed inside.
I eased my head back against the pillow and gazed at the ceiling. The lining was cozy, comfortable, and it felt warm and secure. It would have been a bit hard on the rear after a prolonged period I decided, but overall it was—nice.
I closed my eyes.
A moment later I heard the curtain being whipped back. I jerked my head up to see the junior director standing in the doorway.
The look of dumfounded stupor on his face said it all, for he was devoid of speech.
I arose slightly and rested my arms on the sides of the casket. “Just checking,” I said in an offhanded tone.
“Checking?” He asked.
“To make sure it’s comfortable,” I said, regarding him in return. “This must look a little odd…”
The man shook his head, “Well, I’ve never seen it before—or heard of it either,” he gave an uncertain chuckle. “But to each his own.”
“I just wanted to be sure,” I said. “I’ll be done in just a minute.”
The man nodded. “Well, I just wanted to let you know that your dad is meeting with the director now…that is, if you wanted to join them.”
He stood in the doorway for another silent beat, and then the curtain was sharply drawn back where it had been.
I eased back into place.
Yes, the coffin was comfortable.
Mom would have approved.
I climbed out of the casket and slipped my shoes back on, gathering up the wood polishing supplies as I did so.
On my way out I saw the junior director sitting in a side room with a fellow employee.
They both looked up as I passed, and smiled.