Embrace the Pain by Joe Hogan
The clink of the handicapped button thrusts the door open as the stale aroma hits. The air is a burst of tiny dust particles that leaves a musty aftertaste not only in the nostrils but also on the back of the tongue. The sad, scarlet, shaggy carpet, blotched with grotesque stains, has evidently worn into a faded brown color after years of shuffling mourners. Vases line the hallways on tall tables with circular, two-feet-diameter tops. Each container props up green ferns and curly ivy, which hangs lazily over the side. The plastic light fixtures on the walls resemble wax candlesticks from the 1800s, but the real luminescence comes from the artificial ceiling lights. Meandering forward, the art on the wall is the most peculiar aspect of the eerie entryway. Each painting depicts its own vague, generic scenery: forests, oceans, and mountains. However, the pieces, with coarse, bumpy textures, exhibit a dreary, green tone, continually thirsting for brightness or joy. The images have no intent to distract the grieving individuals but, in contrast, remind them to embrace the pain.
The dreariness of the entrance lingers through the atmosphere and swirls together with mumbled echoes of conversation. Unsurprisingly, every aspect of the building remains tidied up. Each silky window curtain, decorative bookcase, and patterned Kleenex box is mounted in a straightened, even fashion. The living Ficus trees also maintain a prestigious trim with all the fallen leaves, crispy and chapped, nicely collected in a reflective black pot. Filling the space of the room, sofas and chairs arranged themselves into small cliques around wooden-framed glass tables, only allowing three or four guests to converse comfortably and savor bitter coffee. However, the couches’ scratchy fabric provides a dry and abrasive run against any exposed skin. An immaculate porcelain bowl holds white Lifesaver mints that offer a blast of gentle breeze and leave a residue of corn-starchy powder on one’s fingertips. A few crinkly, empty wrappers are secretly tucked amongst the candy. Quiet elevator music reverberates, playing tunes barely noticed over the hum of chit-chat. Visitors slowly merge into this central room as the solemn ceremony commences.
Flocks of unfamiliar faces have accumulated. Most expressions appear drained and emotionless while others clearly struggle back tears as a fizzy wave of heartache bubbles up their throat. Surprisingly, the close family members are those offering the uplifting joy in such a somber time— not the guests. The family’s mirth is most certainly a human defense mechanism. Not only does joy peek into the darkest chapters of life in the most unexpected ways, but laughter reminds even the most stubborn disbelievers that loved ones are never truly gone. The tone remains somber, however, as attendees reunite with old friends and family, greeting each other with moist, clammy handshakes. Some have arrived awkwardly out of obligation— distant relatives and colleagues— with their only connection to the deceased man being the annual Christmas card taped to their basement door. However, most present have remained faithful at the beloved man’s side up until the last, raspy breaths. Unfortunately, the most somber-looking are the directors and staff who can neither smile nor frown but only pace around like skeletons clad in red suits.
The largest crowd congregated into the Visitation Room to view the casket. Some families evidently utilized this space to conduct the funeral itself; however, the mood radiated was drastically distinct from a church or chapel. Although religious symbols hang on the wall and rows of pews line the floor, the room feels more like a movie set, thoughtfully designed but lacking a true purpose. Above, a glass chandelier illuminates this gathering space. Crystal droplets hang down from each tier of lighting connected by little silver chains that chime gently as they sway. The entire structure resembles an elaborate piece of jewelry, matching the earrings of a whimpering grandma hovering over her spiritless husband.
The body in the casket stands spotlighted in the central portion of the Visitation Room. The glossy wood shimmers the light of the chandelier in long creases, following the lumber’s age lines. Designful etches on the borders are gymnastic ribbons that curl, twist, and swirl into a winding gold vine. Half the casket is propped open for each guest to pay last remarks and offer a small prayer. The unveiled body is tucked amongst the traditional white casket ruffles, which flow like folds of fondant on an extravagant wedding cake. The mortician has thinly caked the body’s face with makeup and molded its muscles into an expression of peace. The body seems neither dead or alive.
The clink of the handicapped button thrusts the door open as the stale aroma hits. The air is a burst of tiny dust particles that leaves a musty aftertaste not only in the nostrils but also on the back of the tongue. The sad, scarlet, shaggy carpet, blotched with grotesque stains, has evidently worn into a faded brown color after years of shuffling mourners. Vases line the hallways on tall tables with circular, two-feet-diameter tops. Each container props up green ferns and curly ivy, which hangs lazily over the side. The plastic light fixtures on the walls resemble wax candlesticks from the 1800s, but the real luminescence comes from the artificial ceiling lights. Meandering forward, the art on the wall is the most peculiar aspect of the eerie entryway. Each painting depicts its own vague, generic scenery: forests, oceans, and mountains. However, the pieces, with coarse, bumpy textures, exhibit a dreary, green tone, continually thirsting for brightness or joy. The images have no intent to distract the grieving individuals but, in contrast, remind them to embrace the pain.
The dreariness of the entrance lingers through the atmosphere and swirls together with mumbled echoes of conversation. Unsurprisingly, every aspect of the building remains tidied up. Each silky window curtain, decorative bookcase, and patterned Kleenex box is mounted in a straightened, even fashion. The living Ficus trees also maintain a prestigious trim with all the fallen leaves, crispy and chapped, nicely collected in a reflective black pot. Filling the space of the room, sofas and chairs arranged themselves into small cliques around wooden-framed glass tables, only allowing three or four guests to converse comfortably and savor bitter coffee. However, the couches’ scratchy fabric provides a dry and abrasive run against any exposed skin. An immaculate porcelain bowl holds white Lifesaver mints that offer a blast of gentle breeze and leave a residue of corn-starchy powder on one’s fingertips. A few crinkly, empty wrappers are secretly tucked amongst the candy. Quiet elevator music reverberates, playing tunes barely noticed over the hum of chit-chat. Visitors slowly merge into this central room as the solemn ceremony commences.
Flocks of unfamiliar faces have accumulated. Most expressions appear drained and emotionless while others clearly struggle back tears as a fizzy wave of heartache bubbles up their throat. Surprisingly, the close family members are those offering the uplifting joy in such a somber time— not the guests. The family’s mirth is most certainly a human defense mechanism. Not only does joy peek into the darkest chapters of life in the most unexpected ways, but laughter reminds even the most stubborn disbelievers that loved ones are never truly gone. The tone remains somber, however, as attendees reunite with old friends and family, greeting each other with moist, clammy handshakes. Some have arrived awkwardly out of obligation— distant relatives and colleagues— with their only connection to the deceased man being the annual Christmas card taped to their basement door. However, most present have remained faithful at the beloved man’s side up until the last, raspy breaths. Unfortunately, the most somber-looking are the directors and staff who can neither smile nor frown but only pace around like skeletons clad in red suits.
The largest crowd congregated into the Visitation Room to view the casket. Some families evidently utilized this space to conduct the funeral itself; however, the mood radiated was drastically distinct from a church or chapel. Although religious symbols hang on the wall and rows of pews line the floor, the room feels more like a movie set, thoughtfully designed but lacking a true purpose. Above, a glass chandelier illuminates this gathering space. Crystal droplets hang down from each tier of lighting connected by little silver chains that chime gently as they sway. The entire structure resembles an elaborate piece of jewelry, matching the earrings of a whimpering grandma hovering over her spiritless husband.
The body in the casket stands spotlighted in the central portion of the Visitation Room. The glossy wood shimmers the light of the chandelier in long creases, following the lumber’s age lines. Designful etches on the borders are gymnastic ribbons that curl, twist, and swirl into a winding gold vine. Half the casket is propped open for each guest to pay last remarks and offer a small prayer. The unveiled body is tucked amongst the traditional white casket ruffles, which flow like folds of fondant on an extravagant wedding cake. The mortician has thinly caked the body’s face with makeup and molded its muscles into an expression of peace. The body seems neither dead or alive.