This is the second part of the first chapter. You can read the first part here.
As I walked through the halls of the hospice to her room, I was struck by the silence. Deathly silence really.
Inside her room everything seemed as it was before, except for her lifeless body, twisted as though in pain. I fell to my knees and started sobbing. This was not something I was ready for, despite 18 months of expectation. I don’t recall what time I left, or what was said. But the next day was a flurry of activity.
There’s just so much to do when someone dies. Certificates to collect, funerals to arrange, relatives to tell. So many officials and functionaries to deal with.
Strange how easy it is to forget that she’s dead. For a moment, after walking out of one funeral director’s office in disgust at the callous and impersonal way he was treating us, I thought I’d ring my mother for her advice on who to use.
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