In a hall with large, floor-to-ceiling wooden doors, was my favorite aunt seated on a pew. I approached her, walked in an almost processional fashion so as not to disturb her quiet contemplation. She was grim-faced when she looked at me. Her mood, funereal. For beside her was a white casket with blue-painted carvings of whimsical design.
Within the box was her, in eternal sleep. Beautiful and still full of life. Cosmetics applied to her face made her look younger. It is as if she was still alive. The reaction was almost instant, breaking down in tears, I said;
"She asked for at least seventy five years."
I woke up.
Went to her room and hugged her.
And then she told me about her colleague who has Brain tumor.