| (no subject) |
[Dec. 1st, 2009|12:39 am] |
|
The Process of Dying
The maid said her fingernails where turning white, you walk into the room and see her lying on the bed, her breathing growing shorter with each second. You touch her face, it's still warm but her hands and feet are freezing.
You call the ambulance but she's gone before they reach. The police arrive shortly after, and they give you 3 hours to get a doctor to confirm her death. You call the undertakers next, it's a package they say, they'll do everything for you. They'll get the doctor, and they'll send someone down to go through the procedures with you. Procedures.
It's $250 for the doctor to sign the piece of paper, which you take down to the police station to trade for a death certificate. They punch a hole in her identification card.
You go back to the house to talk to the person the undertakers sent, he gives you options, where to hold the wake, the funeral, when do you want it, and while you're going through all this, the embalmers take the body away.
That night, your brother tells you your niece cried when she got home. It puzzles you, they were never that close. Your brother says she felt weird, everyone being so insensitive about the death made her feel weird. But there were procedures to complete, things to settle. It couldn't be helped.
The next day the maid tells you your father was looking for her last night. She says she told him "She's sleeping already, she's gone to sleep somewhere".
This is the process of dying, and death is only the beginning. |
|
|
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
kulaire's journal