I place my hands on the body, close my eyes and wait. I wait for the body's response to my touch. Sometimes that comes fast. Sometimes there is no response. That is also helpful.
A discussion about desirable funeral homes and burial wishes ensued between my mother and me as we drove to church in an unfamiliar town. I swore at the voice coming from my phone for her split-second-too-late directions, while mom slammed on her imaginary brakes from the passenger side.
A skeleton lingered as she took a step forward. It wasn't eager to separate. Nothing happened for a few moments. I watched, feeling impatient.