Have you ever been to a viewing, or a funeral, perhaps? I’m sure you have. Most have attended at least one of them throughout their lives. I’ve had the misfortune to have attended a few, but probably the most forlorn viewing I’ve ever experienced was the one I went to on a Tuesday night about two weeks ago. It was that of a former student and friend, she was just fifteen years old; much too young to die. As I walked into the funeral home, gloom was heavy upon the room. There were many depressing factors, such as the slide show of pictures of her past, and the sad music which inspires people to cry themselves to sleep. Maybe the most horrible thing was the sight of her grandparents, huddling together in the corner, looking like the very picture of despair. The lost look on their faces, implying they would never again find happiness in the world, was worse than tears. They didn’t talk much; their grief looked far beyond the help of condolences. The flower arrangements, though brightly colored, only seemed to bring out the death in the room.

As I walked through the line of family members, I noticed their eyes, determinedly trying to avoid looking at the closed casket a few feet away. They were at least more successful than everyone else in the room; all eyes were inevitably drawn to it. There was a sizeable crowd, but they all spoke in low voices, mentally acknowledging the loss of life that haunted the room. The silence that shrouded the casket area was the loudest thing in the proximity. Throughout the whole desolate event, I couldn’t help but think; at least her coffin was purple, like she wanted.