I met my mom at the funeral home and we went in together. They had a collage of photos on a board on display. They were of the girl that I remember from years ago. There were pictures of her kids, including her baby son who passed away. Two of her kids were there, and one was in school.
Through another doorway, just behind the photo display was the room. You know, the room where they have the person laid out in the casket. I didn't go in at first, there were alot of people up front. So I took a seat and waited. Then there was only one person up there, so I headed that way. It was her sister Donna, she was sobbing and holding her sisters hand. I told her who I was and that I was sorry about her sister passing away. I only touched Karen's hand and it was ice cold. How awful a thought of what happens to the body after death that they have to freeze you or refrigerate you to postpone the after effects.
I remember that coldness with my baby boy. Not at first, but on the last day that they brought him to us.
I remember it and I hate it. I hate all of this.
Her mother, oh her poor mother, was a mess. She said they still don't know what happened. It doesn't matter any way because nothing is going to bring her back. Not prayers, not tears, not screaming, not even a broken heart.
No comments:
Post a Comment