Death dilemma: Where does the body go?

The Lady of the House and I went on vacation a couple of weeks ago with son and grandson in tow.

Our first day on the road ended with a stay at a motel in east Texas.

Somewhere in the middle of the night I was awakened by absolute quiet:

No gentle sounds of slumber from The Lady of the House.

The Lady of the House was so quiet I stretched a timid hand toward her and touched my palm to her back. She was still warm, still alive.

That morning over breakfast I told her of my deep dark thoughts.

"I was afraid to touch you, thinking you might be cold and that would mean you were dead," I said. "But you were warm."

"That still might not have meant anything," she said. "You stay warm a long time after you die."

"Yeah, but it's a cooler warm," I said. "Now what would I have done if you had 'gone on to glory'?"

"Just call the local mortuary."

"Yeah, but they're strangers," I said. "I'd just as soon load you in the passenger seat and go home."

"You could get Justin to help you," said The Lady of the House referring to the son.

"And there you'd be, sitting right up front. I could talk to you while I drove."

"You'd save space if you loaded me in the trunk," said The Lady of the House.

"And there'd be grandson watching all of this," I said.

"He'd be scarred for life," she said.

"And when we got home we'd unload you and put you in your recliner.

Then I'd call the authorities," I said.

"If something like that happens just call the local authorities wherever we are," said The Lady of the House. "And don't YOU die on me in your sleep. I can't think of anything worse than waking up and you're dead."

"I'll keep that in mind," I said with a wink.

Grant McGee is a long-time broadcaster and former truck driver who rides bicycles and likes to talk about his many adventures on the road of life.

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