Today was a morbid day. Just like any other day, but today was special. It was my mother's funeral.

There was no point scanning the crowd for my sister or my father. I knew they wouldn't be here. Even if they had nothing better to do. It wasn't surprising, we weren't exactly the most functional of all families, we were broken. Divided. But it wasn't because mother was morose, that's my job, it was because, as a family, we were apathetic towards each other. Father cheated on her, Elene eloped and left for California and then there's me. I liked to take pictures of people in pain. I even took a photo of Mother before she passed; she was calm and serene as always. Except for the stray tear that ran down her blanched cheek.

Mother was the master of masking her emotions, unfortunately for her, I liked to observe people so I saw right through her façade. Not out of love, but out of interest.

It had started to rain, which was fitting for the circumstance, everyone in their black attire, looking solemnly at the open casket, murmuring to themselves. I wish I could capture the expressions on each of their faces with my camera, but that's seen as inappropriate, on the bright side I did take a good shot of the morgue.

Death fascinates me. Skeletons can tell you so much about a person. Well, as long as you strip back the layers. I wonder what Mother's skeleton would tell me about her.

"Ivan, would you like to say something?" 

"Pardon?"

Turning to the monotonous voice, I looked upon a stout woman who had cropped hair to her perky chin, with eyes as cold as ice, face lathered in tears. Now I'm annoyed at myself, she would make a great picture to add to the collection. I think I would've put her next to the child who had just lost an eye, due to their stupidity, work of art that was. One of the favourites actually. 

As I silently scrutinised her, some things came to me. Truly, I think I might recognize her, she reminds me of Aunt Ruth, I took a lot of photos of her dead flower patch, if I remember correctly. What a lovely weekend out that was. 

"Would you quit staring, you might be a wayward child but glaring is rude- I asked if you would like to say a few words. After all, she was your mother,"

Coming to my senses, I gave a curt nod and began to make my way through the sea of sorrow. Oh, will you look at that, there's a guy that has slightly mismatched eyebrows or at least I think those are eyebrows? They certainly look more like a couple of caterpillars had died on his brow, and what is that moustache?  Let me guess, another caterpillar. I sighed in defeat. There are so many interesting people here and I can't capture it, all the tears, all the pain, all the wilting bouquets. 

People in mourning always make the most beautiful pictures. 

It makes me think that under all their skin and flesh is a skeleton that can tell me everything about them. Maybe it was a good thing that Mother died, after all, otherwise, I would never be able to witness this wonderful sight. Approaching the open casket, I could clearly see the wreath of white lilies around Mother's body and her impassive aged face. I think I might cry. This day has been too morbidly delightful. If I died today, I would die content. The whole excitement of this event, the thought of what the rest of my living family was doing receded to the back of my brain. Where it should stay. 

Standing above the cold corpse of my Mother, I placed a kiss on her forehead and then her cheek. If they didn't close the coffin soon Mother's makeup will start to run.