Short Story – The Viewing of Mrs. Motts

by Gregory Lee White

Albert owns the only drive-thru funeral business in Maine. I should know. I’m Ruby Motts, the mother of that ungrateful brat. It sounds harsh, I know it does, but I’m very upset. No. I’m livid. It’s not because I’m dead, I got over the shock of that rather quickly. I’ve been around death for twenty-nine years. I have held the hands of mourning wives and broken husbands and cried with parents over the loss of a child. Sometimes it was necessary to battle grown children when they wanted to change a parent’s preneed agreement. I had to explain that’s what a preneed is for, to give the dead a legal voice. I was a great defender of final requests. It didn’t matter how unconventional or wacky they seemed. Last wishes are important, sacred gifts, I would tell them, a final way to honor a father or mother. Now, I am on the other side of the casket and I am not happy. I’m on display in that window that I hate so much, laid out with spotlights against white satin lining.

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