On Monday morning, Mom and I visited the funeral home. She was eighty-four, exhausted, and still wearing the pearl earrings Dad had given her for their fortieth anniversary. All she wanted was to arrange his burial and return home. The funeral home had changed since Dad made his arrangements. The old owner, Mr. Pruitt, had passed away, and his nephew Kyle had transformed the modest business into something resembling an expensive hotel.
Kyle greeted us in his private office, expressed his condolences, and opened a black folder. Then he slid a sheet of paper across the desk. The amount printed at the bottom was $17,900. Mom reminded him that Arthur had already paid for everything. Kyle smiled politely and explained that the original package was outdated, the casket discontinued, and the funeral services upgraded. Mom’s hands began trembling as he suggested putting the balance on a credit card.
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