Another Life Ends: Reflections from Across the Street

It’s another morning after another restless night. I’m up because, what else is there to do? Roll around in the sheets, clutch my pillow as if it were a person, read a book, check my phone, stare at the wall or ceiling, wonder what the people above and below my apartment are doing? Yeah, I’ve done all that, and it’s still not enough. I figured I might as well get a head start on cleaning, but when I walked into the living room, I found myself engrossed by the activity at the funeral home across the street. There are procession cars lined up outside, pallbearers in black suits, and family members dressed in cream. A few children stand nearby, holding their parents’ hands. I watch as a white coffin draped in flower garlands is carried out. Once again, I am filled with awe and disbelief that the entirety of a person’s life is somehow contained in that box, about to be buried six feet under. For some, it is a coffin. For others, ashes. For others, a body wrapped in plain cloth. Different…