More often than not, the human aspect of the funerary business ensures – well, I can’t say hilarity. But we are all precious snowflakes. And sometimes we sit on mama’s casket. Or put in our will, to cremate us with our favourite Elvis purse and poodle’s cremains. We want to be carried to the cemetery in a dump truck, not a hearse.

 

Rarely – never, in my experience – does the death of an infant provide any anecdotal fodder. Sometimes, babies get put down for a nap, roll in between the mattress and the wall, and suffocate to death.

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