The following day, before the funeral ceremony began, family and friends were allowed to pay their last respects to the dead in an open casket viewing.
One by one, they all made their way to the visitation room, with heads lowered, eyes moist, and hearts bleeding as they said their final goodbye to Nana Shawls.
The visitation room was steeped in a hush, the kind of quiet that felt sacred—thick with reverence and the scent of lilies, white roses, and lavender.
Soft instrumental music drifted through the air, barely above a whisper, while sunlight streamed gently through stained-glass windows, casting colored light across the floor like blessings.
At the centre, beneath a cascade of delicate floral arrangements, lay Nana Shawl. Dressed in her Sunday best—a pastel blue suit with pearl buttons and a brooch shaped like a dove—she looked almost asleep.
