We’re Doing Funerals Wrong, Psychologists Say

I know I did, anyway

Photo by Todd Thompson on Unsplash

There’s a room in my parents’ house that my sister and I call “the Mausoleum.” It’s a claustrophobic maze of boxes, a teetering collection of dead people’s things: costume jewelry, photo albums, quilts, china sets that are probably-junk-but-maybe-priceless-heirlooms, yearbooks, fancy old hats.