With Dan’s birthday three days away, I’ve been thinking about Mom and Dan. I’ve been thinking about them a lot and two thoughts have occurred to me.
First, they have given me my new mantra: Not to worry; a good rain will take care of that. I’ll use it after the mantra I stole from “Miss Congeniality:” Dali Lama, Dali Lama, Dali Lama.
Last August, as I scattered their ashes, I was once again hit with the realization that cremains are not like fireplace ashes. When Dan was cremated, some of his ashes were set aside for me to place with Mom’s once she was gone. (Yes, her wishes, not Dan’s, but I don’t think he’d be upset. I don’t think he thought of the possibility.) The rest were scattered by his executor and friend, Harley. I wasn’t in Kansas City when it was done, so it didn’t occur to me that, unlike fireplace ash, cremains don’t just melt away. Continue reading
I’ve always been one for symbolism, patterns and signs from the cosmos. When the stars align, everything feels “right.”
Of course, mom was there when I took my first breath. That I was there for her last and it was just the two of us at the end, felt right.
So, scattering mom’s ashes on my birthday felt logical, natural, symbolic, and “right.” We said our first “hello” on the day of my birth; today, we said our last goodbye.
Mom has been set free, scattered where she requested. I kept my promise.
I saw this cartoon on Facebook. It got me thinking about mom and her misunderstanding of lyrics she’d heard. It started with CCR’s “There’s a Bathroom on the Right” (“There’s a Bad Moon on the Rise”), through Jimmy’s ” ‘Scuse Me While I Kiss This Guy” (” ‘Scuse Me While I Kiss The Sky), all the way up to 3DD “F*ck Me Like That” (“If I could Be Like That.”)
She couldn’t understand The Song That Ate The World — a.k.a. “Smooth” — so I was reciting the lyrics as Rob was singing them. She accused me of making them up. I told her if I had made those up, I would be driving a nicer car.
Which leads to the cartoon. I still don’t know why I was talking music to her, but silly me, I was. I said something about Michael Stipe and his classic Muppets appearance. I said that I have always liked Stipe and his music.
Mom: I thought he was that guy you don’t like from the band you don’t like.
Me: You’re thinking of Scott Stapp and Creed. Michael Stipe is from REM.
Mom: Oh, I know that band. REM Speedwagon.
Me: Mom, please. Let’s not do this.
Twelves years you’ve been gone. Twelves years of all that has happened in my life. Twelves years of all that should have happened in yours.
I love and miss you more than ever.
I’ve hit the four-month mark. Nothing seems so different from the one month, two month, three month mark. I’ve been doing “stuff.” I go to work. I come home. I’ve gone through clothing and possessions — except for photos. I can’t do that yet.
Two photos in frames that sat on mom’s bookcase forever are missing. One was of her dad and one was of mine. They’re gone. I take that as a sign of everyone’s displeasure.
I still haven’t scattered mom’s ashes. I will. It’s just that last bit of her and I hate to let go, but I must and I will. I’ll keep the promise.
The funeral bill is paid. I had a new (desperately needed) HVAC put in and that’s paid off. I’ve moved some things around, but I still haven’t moved into the bedroom. The large bookcase it going to be an issue. It’s too tall to get through the doorway in the upright position. If I walk it down to get it into the living room, how do I get it back to the standing position? I really want it out of there, but it’s particle board and laminate, so Centre Peace won’t take it. If worse comes to worst, I can take a hammer and dismantle it. Yes, in some ways I’m my mother’s girl and a 7′ tall bookcase is no match for me! Mom was great with a hammer.
I have mentally rearranged the furniture dozens of times. Now I want to do it for reals! I’m also planning the scattering, so I guess I’m moving forward at least a little.