I’m not sure whether to feel disappointed or relieved at the relative simplicity of the deed

MY footsteps echo eerily on the pavement as I walk in the darkness, trying not to think about where I am going, lest my courage disintegrate.

A woman and her children walk a few steps ahead of me, passing the building on our right.

“Don’t even look at that place!” she says.

They walk on, and I quietly turn into the walkway of that place. My insides are churning with dread, my knuckles quivering as they find their way to the locked door. I see the reflection of a shadow approaching through the tinted glass, and the click-clack of the lock pierces the silence.

Thankfully, my sister is waiting for me. She speaks in hushed tones, tells me to wait quietly until we are called.

After all, we cannot disturb the angels while they work.

We wait, whispering about this and that, attempting to dilute the heavy emotions that fill the air.

Soon enough, we hear footsteps.

“We’re ready for you,” the woman says, eyes somber but kind. And calm.

I notice her plastic apron and gloves.

Following my sister down the stairs, I hear the rush of water as we make our way through a tiny vestibule and into a large room that resembles a commercial kitchen.

And then I freeze.

Bubby.

So these are what shrouds look like.

I can’t see her face, but that’s definitely Bubby.