Never Ready

Fifteen days ago I was sitting in a funeral home planning my mother's funeral. I wasn't there alone. My sister, brother and dad sat on chairs on the opposite side of a gigantic dark wood desk. Mom had already planned some of the details. Her final wish was to be cremated yet she wanted an open casket for the grandkids. Mom wanted them to have closure. To be able to say goodbye. She wanted Amazing Grace to be played by a bagpiper.

His name is Hayden. He's the one asking us questions, showing us books of floral funeral sprays.Sliding a navy blue notebook across the dark, shiny desk and telling us to pick a memorial card. We cannot decide among the choices we are presented, so we ask "is there anything else? are these all you have?" He nods his head. We narrow it down to three and end up deciding on the soaring white dove.

I answered the front door at my parents house yesterday when Hayden arrived. He was wearing a dark suit, introduced himself and he was sorry for our loss. He was followed by another guy, a co-worker whose name I never caught or maybe I just don't remember. He looked like a ten year old playing dress up in his gray suit. He didn't seem to know what to do with his hands. 

I walked with them into the living room. 

"Her body is in here" I said, pointing as she lay in the brown leather recliner where she took her last breaths. Her body covered by the red, white and blue Coca Cola polar bear fleece blanket that was her constant companion these last thirty-one days. 

I pulled up some chairs and we gathered in a semi circle in the living room. He said some things I don't remember and we arranged to meet at his office the next day. He left some pamphlets and asked if we were ready.

As I held open the front door while they rolled my mother out to the waiting hearse I thought,  I'll never be ready for her to go.