We have had many discussions about where to “put” Dad. Again, one more interesting thing about cremation versus burial. With burial you know you have a plot (hopefully), you have a date and time, and you go in there. Much more ambiguous with cremation. There are so many different options as to what to do (or not do) with the ashes once you have them. We are still in the “not do” phase, but eventually we will do something.
Right now Dad’s ashes are in his room and I have made an interesting personal discovery about that. I firmly believed that I didn’t care where his ashes went. I knew where he wanted them, knew where we’d talked about scattering them, knew that Jacob in particular wanted a place to go and “remember Grandpa”. But I felt that for me it didn’t really matter where the ashes themselves were. I believe Dad is with me wherever I go, I feel him when I’m out walking, in the garden, or sitting on the deck. What did it matter where the ashes actually were?
Yet, I’ve noticed something. Every time I go into his room to grab something I stop, turn towards where the urn is and have a little conversation with him. Nothing heavy, but how are you doing today? I miss you, I hope you’re doing ok. And then it usually goes a little off kilter Is this as weird for you as it is for me? I can’t believe I’m standing here talking to you in that little box, yet here I am. And even though I really should be self conscious, I keep on babbling away about what’s going on in my life.
So, maybe it does matter where his ashes are? I was pretty surprised by this revelation. Even when I became consciously aware of doing it I couldn’t make myself stop. Just as I wouldn’t have walked through a room he was sitting in when he was alive and not have said something, I can’t walk through the room where he is now without having a little conversation. Weird as it is, it feels completely natural and it makes me feel happy instead of sad. It actually makes me much sadder to talk (or write) about it than it does to actually do it.
It’s been a whole month since he died. The longest month of my life. It feels like forever since it happened and yet….. it’s only been this one month. How can that be? How can I miss him so much my throat hurts, still not believe he’s really gone – how can all this time of such heartache only add up to one month?
Dad, I miss you. I feel your love still surrounding all of us, but what I wouldn’t give to walk out to the garden and find you crouched over some flower happily taking a photo.
Happiness moment today: I had to go to the library and download some things for my course. In general I don’t mind being unplugged at home (no internet), but once in a while it’s a bit of work to get the things I need. I decided instead of being productive and working I would watch old music videos like this one, and this one (because who wasn’t pounding it out on the dance floor to this beat?), and this one (OMG these guys are hilarious in concert – I’ve never seen a group of grown men have so much fun), and this one (that one especially because he was such a badass and then cried the entire time he was on Celebrity Apprentice). Songs I used to listen to in my early 20s when I never would have guessed I would end up searching for happiness 20 years later. Back then my happiness was easy and obvious. Ride my horse, hang with my friends, be fierce in knowing what I wanted. That me needs to spend some time with present me and remind me of how much easier and fun things used to be. It was a fun couple of hours spent tapping my toes.
