My grandmother always wore Dune perfume. She was partial to the color lavender, read voraciously, liked the Green Bay Packers for no particular reason, devoured chocolate with glee, and channeled angels when she sang aloud, which she rarely did when anyone was around (except in church on Sundays). Her name was Betty, but I called her Mama—pronounced Maw-maw, which is common in Appalachia—and she called me “honey,” as in “I love you too, honey” whenever we said goodbye over the phone.

Those were, in fact, the last words she said to me before she died last year at the age of 97. I was fortunate to have a living grandparent well into my 40s, and she went peacefully in her sleep on a hot August day. Her death was not tragic or unexpected or anguished, so despite the hurt, I can conjure memories of her—beautiful and sweet until the day she died—that are not tainted by circumstances at the end. That is a gift, one that cannot be overstated and one that far too many Coloradans have not been given in recent years.

5280 October 2024
More From The Issue

I was aware that Colorado was the only state that didn’t license its funeral practitioners and that a lack of regulatory oversight likely had contributed to several recent examples of the mistreatment of human remains. But until the past several months, I hadn’t been able to comprehend the suffering these wrongdoings inflicted upon the living. It was only when I listened to a bereaved wife, a grieving son, and a heartbroken mother talk about their pain, and then thought about my Mama, that I could begin to understand. Unlike me, they may never be able to think about their loved ones without the mental images of what happened to their bodies. As one man I spoke with said, there’s no penalty stiff enough for stealing the comfort provided by the good memories of a loved one.

I think about my grandmother every day: the way she laughed, her slender hands, how she looked forward to going to the beauty parlor each week. But recent events—and a slew of local industry experts—taught me that I also needed to think about how to both approach death and navigate the funeral industry before someone else I love takes their leave. I hope my story helps you do that as well.

Daliah Singer
Freelance writer

Illustration by Authur Mount

Purchasing a home isn’t an easy process for anyone, especially in a competitive market like Denver. But once a buyer has keys in hand, some of the stress usually abates. That hasn’t been the case for writer Daliah Singer and her husband, Zach Wolfel, both former 5280 staffers.

In this month’s “What Happens When Your New-Build Home Has Construction Defects?,” Singer details the litany of issues the couple has experienced since closing on a new-build duplex earlier this year. What the pair thought would be a turnkey property has instead become a lesson in what happens when a population boom means housing is built quickly and existing guardrails are insufficient. There was a leak in a basement window. An air conditioning unit didn’t work. The floorboards separated. As each new problem popped up, Singer wondered how all the experts they had relied upon as buyers had missed the flaws. “If I had to do it again, I’d ask a lot more questions, both during the contract negotiation and the inspection process,” she says. “I’d also have pushed to have a warranty included in our contract.”

Singer says writing this piece has helped her understand what to do next time, knowledge she says she “wanted to provide readers so they can be smarter in their future home purchases, too.”

This article was originally published in 5280 October 2024.
Lindsey B. King
Lindsey B. King
Lindsey B. King was the magazine’s editor from 2021 to 2024. She is currently a Denver-based writer and editor.