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At my daughter’s funeral, my seven-year-old granddaughter tugged my sleeve and whispered, “Grandma, Mommy said he’s going to burn what he did.” Her father had refused an autopsy and scheduled the cremation for that afternoon. Then Lily pointed toward the high collar of her mother’s burial dress. “She says look underneath.” When my son-in-law saw me leave the pew and walk toward the casket, he stopped pretending to cry.
Part 1 The funeral home smelled of lilies, furniture polish, and coffee that had been sitting too long on a warming plate. I remember...
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