"Don't look at her they whisper, it's not really her- she is not there."
I don't want to be here.

I am surrounded with vast crowds of strange creatures, some wrinkled or shrunken appearing to be slowly melting. Others are huge bloated and smelly these looking as though they may burst. These beings are dressed in strange outfits, some so covered you can hardly see them. Others are dressed with skimpy materials not covering bulging baggy flesh. My favorite are dressed in floatly black.

Who are these people? So many familiar faces in uncomfortable bodies?, I am supposed to know them from my past but the names elude me- causing feelings of apology and guilt.

I see small children with twisted crying faces, do they know why they cry or are they just emulating the older generations?, Whom have no true answers.

Why are these people here?. They are the ones that shunned and judged her. Some probably envied her and many of the men wanted her.

I drag my feet, taking as long as I can, interruption's are welcome.

I cannot turn away, the box gets closer. It is a delicate light wood. This she would have liked.

Now I look. No this enmity before me is not her, it cannot be. She was younger, prettier and slimmer also her nose was not shaped like that- her lips are twisted not smiling while her hands look bruised and different colors. This one looks angry and cruel. The clothing is not something she would have chosen. She has been dressed by her children to look like the mom they would have had her be.

Aha! This is a twisted joke! This is not her! Somehow she has cheated the Funeral kings of our world that insist on displaying horrific bodies in pretty boxes, thus forcing living beings to look,causing feelings of guilt, anger then fear with so many pretending pity. Do they know some of us feel envy?.

Why is it that many of these creatures are the very ones that treated her with disgust and superiority when alive, now are showing up to look at her final indignity?. They pretend they care. I wonder does this give them forgiveness or closure? I think it gives them a smug sense of justification and reassurance.

I want to shout my anger- being bitter and nasty, saying only bad things-striking out because so many need to be struck.

Her life was filled with man and rape. Her own family teaching her that she must always be the pretty soft quiet little girl if she expected to be loved.

So she hid her self-disgust at being unable to defend herself or her children. She blamed herself thinking she deserved the abuse. Because of this her life was shaped dragging her towards this moment.

In life she was taller than most women, slim and strong with a beautiful face and sharp wit. She was able to work along with the men-so often out working them. Always carrying an aura of dignity and strength.

Mother of four she educated herself becoming top in her profession. Gradually pulling out of the poverty she was born in.

She still was unable to leave the past and gradually became confused and erratic. Her stories changing into part fantasy with the reality becoming inaccurate. We did not see- also wandering through her stories not knowing the truth until after her death, finding she had died of alcohol overdose.

Through life she alternated between a tough hard woman that could take care of herself to a small hurt child wanting to be held. She drove away her children by trying to make them tough.

I believe her sickness came from her need for love and because she could only accept love if she was ill-she created an illness that allowed her to receive affection and love with others taking care of her. Because of her soft beauty and aura of innocence wherever she wandered she was offered sanctuary, giving her new people to impress and love. If we came close to realizing her addiction she moved on.

She died going home to a sister soul that earlier was released from her own torment and waited to greet her. My baby sister was thirteen years younger than I. One of ten girls. Raised in a polygamist community, with a father damaged and violent, to a mother she often felt hated her.

She was full of love for sisters, children and all people. She was often hard on her children- perhaps because she felt they had to be tough to survive.

I loved her completely and rejoice in her new path. May she find this is the sanctuary - we could not provide here. Somehow I believe I will see her again.

These feelings of anger I hold so close refuse to linger- for in death she has brought many remaining souls together with old grudges put aside if only for a little while.

We must never forget, if we do we loose all that we have learned. Understanding those that caused us pain, with full memory is to know the pain we have caused others. Then when the journey comes again perhaps a different path we all will take.

Like a hummingbird she fluttered into our lives, each person she touched wanted to catch and keep her but her heart beat fast and with little time she had far to go.