Her lifeless body was all I could think of. How could life be taken so suddenly? On May 10th, 2023, around six o'clock, I was awakened by the sound of a scream. I ran to the door to see my sister simply saying, “Bebe died.” She said it with such ease that I didn't believe her. I pushed her aside and walked downstairs. I found my mother sitting on the carpeted floor, crying hysterically. My father desperately tried to calm her down. My mother managed to calm down for a moment and then called her sister-in-law. “Tell me it’s not true,” she said, trying not to break down. To her horror, it was true. She started to cry once again, and suddenly her body went limp. We ran to my mother’s side, and my dad checked her pulse before attempting to wake …show more content…
It’s not the haunted mortuary that disturbed me, but the embalming process itself. Then it hit me that they would be everyone I ever loved someday—my mother, my father, and my closest friends. It will be me in the mortuary; it will be me in that coffin; it will be me in that grave; it will be me in that soil surrounded by other corpses. While thinking of that, I also remembered someone once said “A soul may roam around a corpse for a few days”. I will be able to see my own body being drained and later placed into the soil for the rest of the time. It was just a different person’s belief; I didn’t even believe it, but why did it creep me out so much? Days passed, and I witnessed my mother's grief over the loss of her mother. how her mother was like a mountain to her, how, thankfully due to her mother’s presence, the loss of her father didn't affect her significantly, and how if she held her mother, she felt all her problems go away. Now, who was she supposed to go to when she was upset? From these stories, I began to think about what would happen if I lost my
begins to wonder exactly what happens when one is cremated. This mood of awe is
While reviewing "The Funeral" the first thing that became apparent was the title. A funeral is ceremony held in connection with the burial of a dead person. So already just by looking at the title we become aware that we are dealing with a dead body. Death, in some cultures, is the separation of the body from the soul. The soul continues to live and may even find shelter in another body.
Cemetery is the last peaceful place for our restless souls. It is the place of our final end. It is not just a place of tombstone and grave, it is the burial ground of our love ones. When I visited the cemetery for the first time. The first thing I noticed was the tombstones and the graves. Some graves had flower on them. Few trees were scattered throw out the land. I heard the wind as it passes through the tombstones and made hissing sound. I felt quietness and peacefulness in this confined area, which was fortified by invisible fences. Unlike the other places, the link to the out side world was cutout here. As I sat there I began to see something different about this place. I saw history of mankind being buried here.
Death is a concept that people struggle to think about. Although it happens to everyone, the topic of death still causes a sense of not only heartache but avoidance. Even though death could happen at any moment, most people don’t think it would ever happen to them. These people never consider or talk about what they would like to happen if they did die for any reason. Within the short story, The Death of the Funeral Business, there are multiple instances where Sandy Hingston, the author, examines different types of ‘memorial services’. While talking about these different types of services, she investigates the different forms of body disposal. These types of disposal include a burial with funeral, burial without funeral, and cremation. Hinston
Prior to the nineteenth centuries, people were so terrified of being buried alive that they often included i...
I wasn’t always a mummy. Over 10,000 years ago I was a fine embalmer. I worked on preserving the dead body’s day and night, night and day. It seemed like all that I ever saw were the dead.
When my mother got that phone call saying that my grandma had died earlier that morning, the unforgettable pain and emotions hit me harder than I expected. I was shocked and speechless at first, and my mind couldn’t comprehend the idea that my grandma was truly dead. It seemed if I had pressed a button to make the whole world around me to stop for just a minute. At that moment, I felt my soul leaving my body, and all I could do was watch.
I began to imagine what my funeral would be like. Dark clothing, everyone mingling and moarning. My eyes were closed when I heard someone scream into the blue lego I laid in, interrupting my thoughts. The voice sounded familiar. I didn’t expect it, and for a moment thought I was dead.
Walking into a nursing home every day is hard enough , let alone when you're there to see your best friend . My grandpa had terminal cancer throughout his body . He was the best friend I had and I was going to lose him . He was diagnosed after it was too late to do anything about it and only had a few months to live . He was in and out of the hospital going back and forth from the nursing home . One day around a month before he died , he sat me down on his bed next to him and started to point out the window . On this rainy day covered in clouds I was wondering what he could be pointing at . He said " Do you see that spot right there ? " . I shook my head yes and waited for him to catch his breath . " Whenever you miss me , that's where i'll be . You can look up at the
I have never been an emotional person and I don’t do funerals. I had never been to one before until G.G. died. G.G. was my Great Grandma Hazel Bertsch. She was such a special person and lived for her family. She was full of grace and love. Her hands were wrinkled and soft . They showed her age and hard working spirit. She had tiny little eyes that looked at you with a sparkle in the dark pupils. Hazel was a beautiful old woman. She passed away on a cold January day like the earth seemed sad to see her go.
I see all my family members dressed in black. I wipe the tears with my sleeve. I look around to find people I haven't seen for years and years living miles and miles away from me. I look around. There's granny. Standing there. Looking sharp as can be. A handful of tissues ready to mourn someone else's death. Granny is alive. Who died? There's a big picture, leaning against a casket. A picture of me. Underneath reading, Brooke Elizabeth Peterson. My name. My picture. My casket. My death. I could feel a hand grabbing around my heart. Beads of water started falling down my cheek, one after another. I fall to the ground. The cellar, the fire. It killed me. Now lying in the casket I so selfishly hoped someone else was in. The world quickly turned into a blur, as well as the sounds, the tastes the smells, everything was gone. The last few emotions pounded against me as I slowly lost the feeling of feeling. The world around me went from colors to black. This was it. The four was three. I was one slowly becoming zero. So now
The Unknown can be a scary place. You fear the dangers that could be lurking ahead. Fed only with fragments of information you can find, your mind's eye imagining a world of terror awaiting you. Something as small and insignificant as a sound out of sight can send your mind into overdrive.
There was something uncomfortable about a funeral service on a sunny day. Uncomfortable because the images of a cloudless blue sky and a dead body being lowered into the ground didn’t quite fit together in my mind. Also, it was uncomfortable because I didn’t exactly enjoy wearing black in the beating sun. But alas, I feel it would have been uncouth to wear white to a funeral.
When I think of graveyards, I cannot help but remember my experiences as a child. My parents were divorced, my father was in the Navy and I rarely saw him. I lived with my mother and was the oldest of six kids. During the summer when school let out, my mother always sent me to my father’s family, my grandparents, for the summer. They lived about three hours away, but I did not know them very well, and although I never particularly wanted to go, my mother said it was best, so I could get to know my father’s family.
A scary story I remember my grandma telling me a story about a girl named kelly. She live in a big house she loved to sing and getting good grades. She started living with her grandma after her mom and dad died in a car crash. She was the type of girl who was very quiet, her grandma was a lady who use to shake a lot like because she was scared or something. Kelly thought that what all old people do.