At My Grandma’s Funeral, I Saw My Mom Hide Something in the Coffin—What I Found Shocked Me

Claiming a migraine, my mother had departed an hour ago, but her previous actions continued niggling at me like a splinter under my skin.

“Ms. Emerald??” Mr. Peters the funeral director showed up at my elbow. His kind demeanor made me think of my grandfather, who we had lost five years previously. Take all the time you need. I will be at my office anytime you are ready.

Thank you. Mr., Peters. I waited until his footsteps disappeared before going back to face Grandma’s casket. The place seemed different now. Heavier, bursting with unsaid words and secret facts.

My pulse felt shockingly loud in the silence. I drew in closer to study Grandma’s calm face’s every feature.

There, just seen under the fold of her preferred blue dress—the one she had worn to my college graduation—was the corner of something wrapped in blue fabric.

I battled remorse, divided between respect of Grandma’s desires and allegiance to my mother. Still, my need to preserve Grandma’s heritage took front stage.

My hands shook as I gently reached in, took out the box, then dropped it into my handbag. I said, “I’m sorry, Grandma,” caressing her chilly hand one more time. Her wedding ring caught the brightness, a last glitter of the warmth she had always held.

But here something is not right. Remember? You helped me to remember to rely on my intuition. You always said that truth counts more than comfort.

Back home, I sat in Grandma’s old reading chair—the one she had demanded I grab when she moved to the smaller apartment last year. Sitting in my lap, the present was wrapped in a recognizable blue handkerchief.