From the Morgue to the Graveyard, Death inspires Fear

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From the Morgue to the Graveyard, Death inspires Fear
Despite the deceiving white overall that the morgue attendant wore, it was evident from his haunted eyes, wrinkled face, and tightly pursed lips as he prepared the corpse, that he had witnessed enough mourning in that room. Everything appeared as if it had been designed to remind visitors of the cruelty and power of death. The floor was appropriately solid concrete, rough and cold, the walls painted a ghostly dark grey, and the ceiling loomed high and intimidating. The air conditioner whirled softly as if in silent mourning for the dead, and the only bulb in the room beamed brightly to counter the gloom in the room. Cold sweat broke in my hands and forehead, and feeling intimidated, I retreated to stand in the middle of the other family members and relatives who had come to bid grandma their last respects. Everyone talked in whispers and shuffled their feet softly as if fearing to wake the dead, and in each pair of eyes, I could see somberness, fear and dejection, as if they needed to come into a morgue to truly understand how mortal and powerless they were before death.
The journey to the cemetery was a moment of reflection and contemplation, as everyone was lost in silent thoughts, perhaps remembering their fondest moments with granny. The daughters appeared to be the most aggrieved, and wiped tears in soaked handkerchiefs as the eldest comfortingly squeezed the younger one’s hands. The men’s eyes were misty, but none let tears to gush out, for that is unmanly in our culture. Regardless, their silence, sad faces and tight lips showed their grief. The children, not really understanding the seriousness of the...