I’m just really tired. I know Dad wouldn’t mind either, so just decide on some, please.” We’ve been sitting in this stuffy funeral home for hours now. The clock on Mr. York’s desk says six forty-six. Yawning, I try to seem interested in the flower debate. Really, I don’t know why this wasn’t all done and figured out sooner. Dad’s been sick for a very long time, and my mom is a nurse. You’d think she would have had all of her ducks in a row. “Honey, the flowers are important. You know how much your dad used to enjoy his garden.” What is she talking about? Dad hated his garden so he ran it over with the riding lawn mower. Deciding it isn’t the time or place to argue about unimportant things, I play along. “You’re right, Mom, the flowers are important. I think you should pick the assortment of lilies. They’re my favorite.” Patting me on the thigh, she leans forward. “Please order the lilies, Mr. York. I know it’s what he would have wanted.” Going through the motions, we finalize the flowers, the casket, and the announcements, and then we decide on what to dress him in.
