“How would you like to goup?” the starkly dressed woman asked me as she made the bed.
“Goup?” I asked her back, unsure of what she was asking. I hadn’t thought about this being a messy process.
“Go…up.” she emphasized.
“Go up…” I pondered gazing out the window at the heavens above. “A swing I suppose.”
“Oh Mr. Anderson, that’s not how they do it,” she smiled kindly, politely, too politely.
“What do I need to decide then?” I asked her not turning my gaze from the heavens.
“Do you want to be cremated first or would you like your body intact as it enters the sun?” she answered starkly.