“I couldn’t decide, the shoelaces seem so wrong,” the daughter said, holding up two pairs of shoes so similar the difference was indistinguishable. “Mom was always so picky.” As she talks her voice cracks. “Everything had to be perfect from the tips of her toes.” The daughter starts gesturing wildly. “She wouldn’t want to be seen in public unless…” The tears come. Fat and ugly. Leaving block lines of mascara.

You hand her a tissue from the box on your desk. “I have two words that will solve the problem.”

She takes the Kleenex.

***

“Beautiful memorial,” the woman said, clasping the daughter’s hand before she walks over to pay her respects to the closed casket at the front of the church.