A white rectangular wooden box with a polished surface and token curlicued bronze-colored engraving on its sides greeted my sleep-deprived and travel-weary eyes. As I entered the funeral home that early morning, I noted with wry amusement that Auntie Vim and her friends were entertaining themselves with their private jokes coupled with comical dancing. Mithi was lying fast asleep on the sofa nearest the coffin. The bright lights and heavy scent of flowers were an assault on the senses, very jarring in the cool and quiet air of a December morning. I nervously and slowly approached the coffin and peered into the wrinkled face of this once proud woman now shriveled and utterly lifeless. As I marshaled my thoughts and feelings, I noted how unbecoming the pink lipstick was against her brown leathery skin. I inwardly flinched when I saw that the white lining of the coffin on which she lay had the texture and look of plastic. I suddenly remembered how she hated plastic plants.
Remembering Lola Juanita
Nonfiction by Vida Mia Valverde | November 28, 2010



