A short short inspired by a Lostash Picable.
I drove all night in order to attend the viewing. I did not identify myself. No one would have known me if I did. I didn’t participate in the “doesn’t she look natural” crap but I thought, she looked as beautiful as ever. I didn’t cry. I looked around but couldn’t find any daisies. Instead I found my name tag on a bouquet of ragged white dahlias. I was angry but I guess it didn’t matter. Family members were somewhat puzzled. Who’s the guy who sent the dahlias?
photo by lostash
I did not travel with the procession to the cemetery. Instead, I stopped off at Margie’s for a beer and a bump to settle my nerves. Margie and I go back a long way. We can pick a day of a week of a month of a year of an incident and talk about it a laugh. She’s a trip. She charged me for the bump but spotted me the beer and suggested the convertible might have belonged to a long lost cousin or somebody. Maybe the lights were off so he could show some slides or home movies or something. Maybe I jumped to a wrong conclusion. I began to hum an old Forrester Sisters song, “…too much water’s run under that old bridge…too many rivers …..” I left for the graveyard.
When I arrived the crowd had gone and the workers were folding the chairs and taking down the tent. Could they help me? No thanks. Want a bottle of water? No, I’ve been hydrated in town. Then I noticed something odd. The dirt had not settled on the grave yet and most of the flowers had been removed. Her husband, three children and several grandchildren had been there but there, on the middle of the grave, was a single bouquet of flowers…ragged white dahlias.
A great story and very interesting read. well-presented too..Thanks for sharing this magnificent work 
Beautiful story. You made lovely use of lostash’s photos.
I’m not going to ask if its a true story…
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