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My Mother's Funeral Service

Walking into the funeral home, I remember the summer I spent on the farm just west of Lake Geneva, Wisconsin.

I got stuck in the barn there once. I was nine maybe, and I couldn't slide back the heavy wooden door. It was on rollers, and the door must have weighed a couple hundred pounds. The smell of shit and straw and stuff rotting ripped my breath away.

I figured I would die of the smell or die of fear.

I was crying and pounding on the door when my mom came out looking for some eggs. I was blubbering, my face red, my lips shaking, my breath full of gasps and tears.

My mom looked at me and started to laugh. It just made me cry harder, but she kept laughing and trying to soothe me, comfort me.

Later, she said she was sorry about the laughing. She just couldn't stop.

Story by:

John Guzlowski

27 February 2013

John Guzlowski's web:

lightning-and-ashes.blogspot.com