Morgue

It is an image that is painted so brightly in my memory it screams at me. I'll never forget the day that my mother died, but the image of her lying there on that metal table at the morgue is something that will haunt me forever. She died when I was 11 years old and the wound has never healed, I feel like a string with frayed end. When she passed away I didn't fully understand the impact it would have on my life, it's amazing how sheltered we are from death until it comes knocking at your door. My father asked me if I wanted to go to the morgue to dress my mother in her burial clothes, of course I agreed. I remember the light slowly fading as we walked back to the room that they prepared the bodies. You walked into the morgue and there were windows everywhere and as you continued there was a chapel off to the left with windows. Than we entered the room where they displayed all the coffins that they had for sale, than there was one last hallway and two white double swing doors. As I walked through the doors holding my fathers hand I immediately went into shock when I realized that was my mother lying there on the table. I was horrified, the only thing I could do was cling onto my father and cry uncontrollably. In that moment I fully understood death and how brutal and unforgiving it can be. The only thing I wanted to do was get out of that room, I convinced myself while we were there it wasn't my mother. She didn't look how I had seen her last, and while she laid there in the morgue is definitely not how I wanted to remember her.