Coffins- a memoir

The surreal experience of grief shopping for the perfect coffin proved overwhelming.Linda knew the horrible, self- imposed reponsibility required an untapped strength that she wasn't sure could be mustered, and while staring at the many rows of possible choices of caskets,she heard herself deeply sighing, and her tears wouldn't stop. This was almost as excruciating as identifying her young husband's body at the impersonal morgue earlier that day. Will seeing his embalmed body be even worse, she mulled. Interrogation lighting and a warehouse feel- such was the lower level- appropriately- of the modest funeral home where Cliff's body would be displayed, a decidedly unabashed showroom for the mortuary business. What an undertaking ,she thought,and smiled at herself. Each displayed coffin had a price tag on it, and the prim and proper funeral director said in a monotone voice that he would be more than happy to work up a package deal for the entire funeral. She could see child sized coffins, extra long coffins, feminine coffins, expensive coffins,and a whole row of " suitable" mid-priced elegant coffins from which she finally chose a manly, polished cherrywood finished one.Then she picked out the interior satin cloth and color from the professional display on the pale blue wall( blue has a calming effect she recalled) and then there was the vault and the matter of the gravesite and internment and....Her brain began to shut down ; maybe the tranquilizer was working after all.Linda felt like she was furniture shopping for the dead ( Caskets Are Us), such a morbid ritual and one from which she derived no pleasure, but she felt strongly obliged to get it right for Cliff's sake, although it occurred to her that he was past caring about such things. Her mother used to say, "Funerals are for the living, you know." Linda didn't feel too alive right then. They had only been married 15 months, but the unthinkable happened, and here she was. She wanted to get into the coffin and see what it felt like, but the patient "salesman" said,"No", rather emphatically. " Why not? I'm paying for it," Linda protested. "It's just not done," he dismissively stated. She was too exhausted to argue any further. She had made her purchase decision and just wanted to get out of there, but there were papers to sign, and the viewing room to see, and whether she wanted open casket or closed,details ad nauseum, which Linda's father, who had driven her to the funeral home, took care of.She was grateful for that, because she no longer could focus.Her dad had experience in these somber matters, but at age Twenty , she had none.She kept thinking about what clothes Cliff would want to wear in that box, but she found some small comfort in the fact that he wouldn't be wearing socks and shoes ; when he was at home, he never did. Would his feet get cold, she wondered, and a little voice whispered," Of course not, silly!" Linda suddenly began to get agitated and angry- so the pill wasn't working- and she had an overwhelming urge to vomit. She got to the bathroom just in time. Afterward, she noticed some photos on the wall that reminded her of the book "Wisconsin Death Trip." Shouldn't the wall art in a funeral home at least make the pretense of being cheerier than that? She had a feeling of claustrophobia just then, but thought about how small, in comparison, that coffin would be for the body inside it. She had to get some fresh air, so she ran outside only to see a huge black hearse setting in front of the building, as if waiting for its next occupant. Linda decided at that moment that she would make sure everyone would know she wanted to be cremated.