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Being buried is so last century.
Bodies moulder in a grave a while; might be tough on those who had little patience with the irritations of life in their first gig. Cat fluff on the pinstripe. Small children posing a tirade of questions, the answers being self-evident. Irritation because the obligation is to lose the self-obsession and pay attention to someone else’s ego. More acceptable in these days of shrinking resources is a cremation wall or a scattering among the roses. Something there is that doesn’t love a scattering. That wants it gathered.
Being in a nursing home is akin to mouldering. A sleep-over in death’s waiting room, adding piquancy to waiting at death’s door. ‘Being’ is more applicable to a nursing home stay than either ‘residing’ or ‘living’, the latter only being true on the most banal level.
It’s a long time, eternity. Plenty of time to mull on’t.
3 comments:
Yes it is so last century but maybe somewhere down the track people will miss the headstones.
I loved the phrase "a sleep-over in death's waiting room". It creates a great mental image.
This is my favorite so far. Doesn't tell, just describes. I might have taken out the "adding piquancy..." through "banal level," because you've already led us there.
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