"Now," Farah whispered, "imagine you are standing at their funeral. You are looking at their face for the last time. What would you give? What would you pay to hear them complain just one more time? What would you give to pick up that wet towel?" "Everything," Meera gasped, opening her eyes. She was trembling. "I would give everything." "That," Farah pointed to Meera's chest, "is the value of the person. You couldn't see it because your ego was in the way. Your ego was busy keeping score - 'He did this, so I will do that.' Death burns the scorecard." She looked at the group. "This is the Funeral for the Living. You don't have to wait for them to die to feel this. You can feel it right now. And if you feel it right now, you won't treat them like furniture when you go home." Kabir was weeping silently. He had lived the visualization for real. He was the proof that the exercise wasn't a game. "I missed my chance," Kabir said, his voice hollow. "I can't go home and hug him."