Resthaven Funeral Home: A Short Story

Riiiiing! Riiiiing! The phone clamored. I’ve never heard it in such a way before. I check the caller ID and solemnly answered, knowing this was unusual. “Rachel?” My Aunt Angi’s trembling voice said. The next words to come out of her mouth were shattering, so much so that I fell straight to the floor with my one-year-old son in my arms. “Honey, your Mom passed away. The police are on their way.” My heart stopped and time stood still. I couldn’t stop it. “I can’t stop any of it,” I whimpered. I can’t give the exact details on what really happened in those few moments before I had to gather myself up and go see my Mom for the very last time at her home; but I can say that it was a sinking inside that I couldn’t anchor to any stability. After abuse from her mother, followed by years of drug abuse that led to her death, this was the day I stepped into the abyss, and it’s taken me a long time to be able to reach my way back. My husband and I arrive at that house that my mother and her sister shared. There were police cars with flashing lights, an ambulance and firetruck illuminated just the same, and many strangers in uniform scattered about everywhere. My heart was racing, what was about to happen? What was really going on? Was this real? We walk up the door where we were stopped by an officer and my husband informs him that I’m the daughter of the woman who they still have inside, and he lets us pass disgruntledly. I walk in to see my aunt completely broken down trying to form thoughts and words to explain to another officer what had happened. My mom had overdosed on January 12, 2008 at 37 years old. Neither one of us could keep a sliver of composure once we met eyes. Everything was fragmenting around us it seemed. We embrace, locking on to each other when my aunt gets a tap on the shoulder and the EMT says, “It’s time. We need to move her. Can everyone please step out into the yard?” My heart sank. All I could hear over and over again was, “It’s time…. It’s time…. It’s time….” We all left the living room as the man had requested. They rolled her out on a gurney, under a large green blanket, where we couldn’t actually see her. My eyes filled with tears, my throat swelled, and then grasped the porch for support as I went to my knees again and squealed, “Mooooom!” I tried to crawl through the grass to get to her, my maternity shirt dragging into the grass. She was loaded into the back of a coroner’s vehicle and was transported to the morgue; however, all I could see was that she was gone. Michelle had a tough childhood with her mother being a heroin addict and abusive. She didn’t do very well in school, not through lack of intelligence, but more through lack of drive and support. She had poor attendance and never graduated. Sometimes her attendance was due to bruises that she was ashamed of, …show more content…
During that week, the family got together trying to arrange the funeral for her at Resthaven Funeral Home. It was so stessful. They started bringing out binders upon binders of caskets, urns, memorial pieces, CD playlists, catering options, and flower arrangements to go on top of the caskets Everything was outlandishly expensive, and the more concerned I felt, the less the funeral home tried to accommodate. After some deliberation, the family decided against their services and had her transported to John Ireland Funeral Home. The viewing lasted two days so everyone could pay their respects and say their goodbyes. On January 18, we held a small service for her. Close friends and family gathered to honor her. A pastor read from the bible as usual, my aunt struggled through telling stories of how strong their sisterly bond was, that they always had each other’s backs, even if they weren’t getting along that day. One of the last things she said was that she wished she could have saved her. My aunt passed away fourteen months later to an accidental