Life ends, and you are here, on the mortician’s table, a quiet witness to the journey’s close, not lonely, not cold

Rather, a sanctuary of care, where the breaths of the living hush into reverence; We gather, a unity of hands, young and old, each fingertip a thread of warmth, each heartbeat a whisper

As we cradle you in gentle purpose, like a mother, her hands weaving love into the fabric of goodbye: We prepare your body, draped in the tender embrace of memories, while the flickering of candles dances in the stillness

Prayers rise like soft smoke, each word a balm for the soul, each hope a bridge to the beyond, In this sacred space, life and death entwined, and though the world grows dim, we stand as sentinels of love, guiding you onward, with the reverence you deserve, until the last note of your song fades into the infinite