Once, my grandmother felt dizzy, and the doctor who came with the “Ambulance Service” decided not to take any chances and took her to the hospital. There, they explained to her in detail that at her age, it’s hardly appropriate to gallivant to theaters with elderly friends. Death isn’t too far off, and it’s proper to meet it as expected – in one’s own bed, not at a poker game at a friend’s house.
Grandma decided to approach the end thoughtfully and with flair. First, she bought a heap of medications and filled her bedside table with them. The air soon acquired a persistent smell of camphor. Secondly, she enlisted all of us to help her with the solemn process of dying, costing us both time and patience.
She became fussy, demanded new medications, sometimes calling the doctor, other times a solicitor. Mum ran herself ragged trying to satisfy her whims and convince her it was still too early to be thinking about dying. In return, Grandma would roll her eyes and ask for another few drops of camphor spirits. But one day, into Grandma’s room walked her old friend Nellie. Thankfully, I was there at the time and witnessed it all first-hand.
“So, you’ve finally decided to kick the bucket,” she asked in a deep, gruff voice, “commendable. One of us has to take the first step to the unknown and check it out. But tell me honestly – are you planning to lie in the coffin looking like this?” Grandma grumbled that she didn’t care how she’d look lying in the box.
“You might not care,” Nellie retorted, “but I have to look at that horror! Moreover, I’m supposed to kiss that face! What will people say? They’ll think they’ve come to a proper funeral, only to feel deceived. I won’t be able to look them in the eye!”
“What have people got to do with it?” Grandma exclaimed.
“Because they’ll think they’re at the funeral of Nellie’s friend, and Nellie doesn’t hang out with just anyone. But when they see you, they’ll think they’ve been shown the wrong body and be offended! By the way, why have you got all those medications? Are you poisoning yourself with that junk?”
“I’m trying to relieve my suffering,” Grandma protested.
“You’re trying to ruin your liver – and a sickly liver gives a ghastly complexion. Do you want people to take one look at you in the coffin and run away in horror?”
Grandma thought for a moment and agreed that it was better to lie in the coffin with a healthy-looking face. Her friend concurred and suggested they go out to get some fresh air and a rosy glow, which would look quite impressive on her final resting bed.
I stood there, mouth agape, watching as my recently bedridden grandma shuffled off to the shower she had refused for the last three weeks. And Nellie, pursing her lips disdainfully, ordered me to strip the bedsheets and send them to the wash… While they themselves brewed two cups of strong coffee, adding something brandy-like – about fifty milliliters – as brandy is good for the tone and nerves. And in that infamous coffin, as you might have guessed, it’s best to lie with strong nerves and a healthy heart…
Her best friend became so invested in preparing Grandma for the upcoming funerals that for a couple of weeks she diligently got her ready. In that time, they visited the hairdresser, a masseur, and a beauty salon. They wandered through shops and sales, buying a heap of charming things, undoubtedly useful in the next world, such as a hat with a veil, gloves, and cosmetics.
So, Grandma no longer worries about her own funeral because she knows everything will go perfectly. To pass the time, she’s resumed her rounds of visiting friends, poker games, and cheerful picnics. She says if death wants her so badly, it should find her itself… Although, the grim reaper isn’t in any rush to find her – apparently, Grandma’s complexion isn’t quite ready for that yet.
