THE SMILING CASKET LID

It’s another day at Happy Chapel. The aroma of grief, and the soft murmur of condolences echoed in the dimly lit room. I was with Bill. He was the seasoned funeral director who had overseen countless services. We worked well together.

The service for Mr. Thompson had concluded. I had finished my comments and prayer. Now it was time for the final viewing.

Bill, meticulous as always, approached the casket to open it one last time for family and friends to pay their respects. As he unlocked the lid, a soft pop sounded, and what he saw made his breath hitch.

He turned his head and looked at me with terror in his eyes

Inside the lid, a perfect imprint of Mr. Thompson’s face stared back at him—nose flattened, mouth and eyebrows clearly visible. I could see Bills heart race. The body hadn't been properly lowered, causing this eerie mark to form on the inside of the lid. It was kind of like the Shroud of Torrin.

Quickly, Bill reached for his handkerchief. With a trembling hand, he tried wiping the imprint away, but the smudge stubbornly remained. He glanced around, hoping no one else had noticed. His fellow funeral directors in the back sensed something was amiss, so they discreetly lowered the lights. This helped cast the room in a dim, almost reverent glow. I was impressed with the degree of professionalism and composure Bill and the others showed. I was working hard to hold my laughter inside. It was one of those sick but humerus moments.

Guests began to file past the casket, their faces etched with sorrow. I watched Bill closely as he stood nearby. I knew his heart was pounding. I hoped he would be ready to field any questions or concerns. But to my surprise, not a single word was spoken about the imprint. People paid their respects, some with tears streaming down their cheeks, others with a silent nod, but no one mentioned the strange mark inside the lid.

My afterthought wonders if no one really looks when viewing a dead person. They just pretend or take a polite and quick peek.

As the last guest departed, Bill and I let out a sigh of relief. The imprint would remain a silent witness to the day's events, a peculiar yet poignant reminder of the delicate dance between life and death.

In the quiet aftermath, we all shared a knowing look. We made the adjustment to the casket and the body was lowered . We had managed to uphold the dignity and peace of the service. We were able to ensure that Mr. Thompson’s final farewell was as serene as possible. This time when the Casket Lid was closed he was smiling at himself ….. 🥸