This was an interesting book. Her father was an undertaker in a small town in the south 1950 to about 1970. The family lived in the second floor of the funeral home. I learned more than I really ever wanted to know about the workings of taking care of dead bodies, but still it was interesting.
The poem below was in the front of the book.
To Be Sure
I wouldn't want to bring him back
from his permanent interment
even if I could
but I wouldn't mind a visit now and then,
a trip down
to keep each other company.
I could push back the top of the concrete liner,
pull up the half lid of the quite tasteful furniture
that is now his home
and fill him in
on the news of the business and my life
since he's been gone.
He's easier to talk to now
and I miss him
more than I thought I would,
more than I thought I could.
Always expected his going
would set me free
and now I am
surprised really
that his new silence
and contained grace
leave me finally free
to love him and to grieve.
By Larry Sorkin
1 comment:
That is me. I thought I was capable but together we were capable now I am a little lost.
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