The Viewing

Like a buffet, the people were lined up waiting their turn. I stood next to a fake plant across the room and quietly watched, absorbing the experience. I listened to the comments on how “peaceful” he looked or that he “looked good”. I wanted to tell them he’s dead, and no one looks good when they are dead, but remained mute.

A nearby bench was filled with old women with their permed hair and large purses, some even had canes. The smell of their perfume mixing into a pungent distortion that almost made you feel light headed as you passed by. They spoke to one another in quiet whispers about their current health ailments, eyes searching for sympathy. It almost seemed to be a contest of who was in more pain.

I watched my husband across the room talking with others and shaking hands, feeling a bit guilty for being a pansy. I patiently waited and smiled a nod at those who came near me while keeping my eye on my husband and a place I couldn’t bring myself to go, near the casket.

I had never met my husband’s uncle and felt no malice towards him alive or dead, but I did have problems with dead bodies in general. They creep me out and make me horribly sad at the same time; I found it is better just to stay away from them completely.

More hands shaken and back pats as my husband made his way through the clusters of well wishers, eventually ending next to me. Condolences had been given, he had shaken the right hands, and we could now go home.