Valkyries seemed more pleasant than that, but then again, I think that is only in battle that they take your soul. I read somewhere once that the Vietnamese let vultures peck at them till they are nothing. The Vikings did it by fire, we bury ours in soil. How easy it is for some to get to the underworld. I fell to the ground, digging little holes in the earth with my toes. We had all been disappointed.Īnd every time I caught him by the spread, staring at the finger sandwiches and seven layer dip. He seemed as surprised as I did about the open casket.Īnd He was there when my Great Grandmother passed away just shy of her 102nd birthday. He had been there when my Great Aunt Hellen’s head had met a hammer and she was pushed down a flight of stairs. It had been a fun funeral, all my favorite cousins had been there. He had been there when my cousin Melanie died of Leukemia, she was in the third grade. But he was always there, not by the casket or by the mourners, but in the family room in the back, staring at the platters of food. He was like the colors you see when you close your eyes, or the green halo after staring at a lightbulb for too long. If I squinted too closely he disappeared. As a young girl, I remember seeing him in sidelong ways. I pulled a little section off…He loves me….I pulled another…He loves me not. But her journey had been easy, one of love, or perhaps lust, maybe just possession. She too was on her way to meet Death in the underworld. I can’t help but remember the story of Persephone. Warm-white, like the lace of an aged wedding dress, and in them a little sprig of blood red. Little lacey flowers grew from the mingle of death and stunted life. But the little bead of blood was lost in the ocean of embalming fluids and viscera.
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