I just read a most engaging short story called “Waking Up in the Morgue.” (It is not what you may think).
The story is about a 50-year-old woman whose husband died a number of years ago and she was pretty much through her grief (I don’t think we ever get over the loss of a loved one; the best we can do is get through the grief. I say this as a twice married; twice widower).
She was carrying on her life of luncheons with her women friends and household chores as usual, when she saw an ad for a part-time job at the local morgue. She had always been fascinated in physiology and biology and was not squeamish. On a lark, she applied and accepted.
After several weeks, she began to see how fragile, unpredictable and short a life can be. She suddenly discovered what a gift life is. She immediately threw out her old clothes and kept her best clothing; gave away her everyday dishes and used her best tableware; called long-lost friends and drank champagne out of her best crystal. The weight of grief was lifted, and she began to live the rest of her life with vigor, grace and dignity.
Another thought-provoking story from my favorite folksinger, Glenn Yarborough, “I Didn’t See the Time Go By.”