Aunt Mildred's Surprisingly Useful Afterlife

When Aunt Mildred finally kicked the bucket – quite literally, it turned out, tripping over her own gout-ridden foot – I inherited her sprawling, decrepit Victorian. More of a sprawling, decrepit *problem*, really. The roof sagged, the pipes wept, and the garden looked like a nature documentary about invasive species. But the biggest issue? Mildred herself, or what was left of her after the funeral director's rather optimistic 'light cosmetic touch.' See, Mildred was laid out in the drawing-room, awaiting the post-wake family 'viewing' which mostly involved cousins trying to remember if she'd ever actually smiled.

It was during my solitary vigil, contemplating the structural integrity of the mantelpiece and the unsettling stillness of my aunt, that inspiration struck. Mildred had always been, shall we say, *inflexible* in life. In death? She was a veritable marvel of rigidity. The old grandfather clock in the hall had a chronic lean, threatening to topple with every strong breeze. A sudden gust rattled the windowpane, and instinct, or perhaps pure morbid genius, took over. With a grunt, I carefully, respectfully, maneuvered Mildred. Her posture, now locked in a perfect, albeit eternal, state of disapproving stiffness, was just what the doctor ordered. Propped against the clock, she held it perfectly upright. 'There you go, Auntie,' I whispered, patting her shoulder. 'Finally pulling your weight.'

The next morning, the postman delivered a rather large, heavy package. The wobbly antique side table by the door groaned under its weight. What to do? Mildred, still leaning against the clock, seemed to eye the predicament. 'Don't look at me like that,' I mumbled. 'It's for the greater good.' Five minutes later, Mildred's rather sturdy, unyielding arm, propped just so, provided excellent counter-leverage. The table stood firm. 'See, Auntie? Never too late to be useful. Though perhaps a little *late* for the 'living' part of that equation.' I even started cataloging her various posthumous applications. Her head, quite firm, made a surprisingly good hat stand. Her lap, a splendid, uncomplaining surface for resting a book. Who knew that after a lifetime of nagging, Aunt Mildred would finally become the most practical member of the family?