Once upon a time, my grandmother grew dizzy, and the doctor who arrived in the ambulance decided not to take any chanceshe whisked the old dear off to hospital. There, they made it quite clear that at her age, flitting about to theatres with elderly companions was rather unseemly. Death was no distant stranger, and it was only proper to meet it as one oughtin ones own bed, not over a game of poker at a friends.
Grandmother resolved to die thoughtfully and with dignity. First, she bought a mountain of medicines and arranged them neatly on her bedside table. The air soon carried the sharp tang of smelling salts. Next, she made sure the rest of us were kept busy, sacrificing our time and nerves to assist in her grand procession toward the grave. She fussed, demanded new remedies, and summoned now a doctor, now a solicitor.
Mother wore herself ragged trying to appease every whim and persuade her that dying was, perhaps, a touch premature. In response, Grandmother would roll her eyes and request another drop of her salts.
Then one day, her old friend Agatha appeared at her door. Thank heavens I was there to witness it all.
“They say youve finally decided to kick the bucket,” she declared in her rich, booming voice. “Commendable. Someone ought to take the first step into the beyond and scout it out. But answer me plainlydo you truly mean to lie in your coffin looking such a fright?”
Grandmother grumbled that it mattered little how she looked once she was boxed up.
“It may matter little to you,” retorted Agatha, “but Ill be the one forced to look at this horror! Worse still, Ill have to kiss it! What will people think? Theyll believe theyve come to a proper funeral, only to find theyve been cruelly deceived. I shant be able to face them!”
“What do people have to do with it?” cried Grandmother.
“Because theyll come expecting to bury Agathas dearest friend, and Agatha does not consort with just anyone. When they see you, theyll think theyve been handed some other corpse entirely and take offence! And why on earth do you need all these medicines? Are you poisoning yourself with this rubbish?”
“Im trying to ease my suffering,” Grandmother protested.
“Youre trying to ruin your liverand nothing gives a worse complexion than a diseased liver. Do you want people to flee in terror at the sight of you in your coffin?”
Grandmother pondered this and conceded that a good complexion in death was preferable. Her friend agreed and suggested a brisk walk outside to restore a healthy flushone that would look splendid on a deathbed.
I gaped as my supposedly dying grandmother slid from her bed and shuffled toward the bath, which shed refused for weeks. Meanwhile, Agatha, curling her lip in distaste, ordered me to strip the sheets for washing and prepare two cups of strong coffeelaced with something fortifying, say, a good splash of brandy. For brandy, as we all know, does wonders for the nerves and the constitution. And in that dreaded coffin, one ought to lie with steady nerves and a strong heart.
Agatha took such an interest in Grandmothers impending funeral that she spent weeks preparing her for it. They visited the hairdresser, the masseuse, and the beauty parlour. They shopped at boutiques and sales, amassing all manner of charming trifles surely needed in the hereaftera veiled hat, gloves, cosmetics. So now, Grandmother frets no longer about her send-off, knowing it shall be conducted with the utmost propriety.
To pass the time, shes resumed her visits to friends, her poker games, and cheerful picnics. She says if Death wants her so badly, let it come looking.
Though, thus far, the old reaper seems in no hurryperhaps Grandmothers complexion isnt quite up to snuff.
