The $300,000 funeral

Last night I dreamed that my parents threw a very expensive funeral for me.  It wasn't in a church; I couldn't tell quite where it was.  A bright white room, white everywhere with no decoration or break.  There were a lot of people there, and everyone held flowers because it was too crowded to put them down anywhere.  They'd get stepped on.

I saw a beautiful coffin, glossy and dark.  I knew I was supposed to be in it.  I tried to remember why I wasn't.  I'd done something wrong, I knew that much.  Everything was thrown off schedule now.  But my parents are diligent, organized people.  They were doing the best they could to keep things in the proper order.

There was a black marble angel for a headstone.  It should have been outside; maybe it was in here so everyone could see it without getting their shoes dirty.  The angel's hair fell in long ringlets and it held a sword half-raised.  I couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman. Its face had a mischievous, indulgent smile I recognized from somewhere.

I heard someone say that the whole thing cost 300,000 dollars, and that didn't even include the food they were serving after.

I thought I was out of the way.  I was behind a glass wall, off to one side.  That was it -- the place was like a hospital, with those windowpane doors you try to peer through to see what they're doing.  No one else seemed to notice or care that I was there, but my parents saw me watching and were furious.  If I didn't leave, they were going to be humiliated in front of everyone, they said.  

I told them I'd apologize if that would help, but they didn't listen.  They didn't exactly talk right to me, either.  They just kind of hissed me out of there, as if they were embarrassed to be seen near the likes of me.