Ashes, Ashes – All Fall Down
Two weeks ago the cremains of my dear sister, Chris, arrived by registered mail from Research for Life. Since neither Richard nor I were home to sign for the package, Chris spent the night in the post office. I hope she did not mind, but we had no choice. The postman needed a signature. I had requested cremains in three small containers. Two boxes would be sent to friends in Florida, and I would keep the third. Widowed friends have large urns of cremains, and their husbands are too heavy to move. The men sit on a closet shelf or in some other obscure place. Chris has a bright desktop place in the kitchen between the cremains of Tennie and Amber, our beloved dogs.
Someday Tennie and Amber’s ashes will be scattered on Pusch Ridge – terrain they loved to run. Chris did not hike and that leaves me to wonder. Where will I eventually spread her ashes. Next summer Arloa and Jim will take their box to Staniel Cay. Chris loved her vacations in the Bahamas, and she will become a year-round resident. Chris enjoyed happy hours at Fleming’s Steak House. The best I might do is to continue the happy part even though we are damp with tears. I will set her cremains on the bar table, order a Chardonnay, chat with Rick, and keep a tradition alive.
Trouble – missing cremains. On July 3, two registered, priority mail packages were to leave Tucson and arrive at their Florida destinations in four days. Today is July 8, and all I have is a case number for Chris’ missing cremains. I wonder about some freaky postal worker with a fetish or two. Sit tight, Chris, a postal sleuth has your case and you have a case number.
I have one more story about cremains. When Bob, our son’s chocolate Lab died, Greg decided to release his ashes from a high-speed quad at Heavenly (South Lake Tahoe). On a beautiful winter’s day, Bob’s cremains flew into the wind and into the faces of skiers behind Greg.
For now, Chris, Tennie, and Amber will stay at home where I can talk to them everyday and say how much I love and miss them.
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