By Joyce Carol Oates
This, I have to tell you, is Literature. Which many people do not like.
That said, I must also tell you it's about dying, which no one likes either.
In Costa Rica, where I live, there are no hospices, where people go to die. The Hospitals are surrounded by many other organizations, many of them funeral homes, that will do everything for a steep price.
Their funeral vehicles park themselves in front of the church, usually on a Saturday. If the deceased person was important, many people will attend the funeral service, and even line up around the church walls.
The pallbearers will be employees of the funeral home, smartly dressed. The hearse will drive slowly off, followed by many people on foot, going to the cemetery.
Most people are buried in above-ground structures with identifying features on the top. After a set amount of time, the remains (if there are any) are removed.
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