I used to love Sunday mornings.
There’s a radio station in my city that plays Sunday morning jazz and once DJ woke up and started getting ready for the day, the radio went on in the bedroom and in the living room and we would listen to easy jazz for a good part of the morning.
Sunday was our easy day. We tried not to do too much of anything. No chores and no trips out of the house (except for breakfast with my mom and aunt which has all but stopped recently). This was our day to unwind. Sometimes, we did it together with an afternoon movie or some British detective shows. Sometimes, we did it in our own space, me in the living room working on my bullet journal for the month and DJ in the other room, on the recliner, tweeting or going through FB posts.
Now, Sundays are the hardest days. I’ve been trying to keep myself busy. I cleared off the dining room table from the accumulation of almost a month’s worth of mail. I’ve filed important papers into file folders. I’ve jotted down notes of things I have to do within the next couple of weeks. None of it is helping.
Yesterday, I picked up the urns. I didn’t know what to expect. I suppose I thought they would be packed away in some nondescript cardboard box for me to open at my leisure once I was home, but I was mistaken.
When I got to the funeral home, I told them what I was there to do. They led me into a quiet visiting room with DJ’s name on the door and presented the urns. I was taken aback because I assumed I was done with the worst part of this whole process…the memorial was difficult at best but I had gotten through it and thought to myself, “okay, the rest will be easier.”, but I was wrong.
The urns (and I do mean “urns”, plural, because her mother and I are splitting the remains…it’s a long story) were beautifully presented on a table, along with a mini-urn I also ordered, and a beautiful, long-stemmed purple rose. The gentleman asked me if I wanted to be alone for a moment and I told him I did.
I can’t describe with words what it feels like to know the living, breathing person you loved and slept beside for over 10 years was reduced to a couple of boxes of ashes. I’m not sure how I feel about it all yet. Part of me was horrified at the thought and part of me was happy that I would have something tangible to hang on to for the rest of my life, if I so desired. Part of me wanted absolutely nothing to do with it. When I finished bawling, I dried my tears, (it seems I’m doing that a lot recently…my trash can overfloweth with kleenex) and let the gentleman know I was done. He was sincere in his condolences, had me sign an acknowledgment that I had picked up the urns, and packed everything away in a nice bag provided by the funeral home.
Now, it’s Sunday. The day after I picked up my baby’s remains and the house is so quiet. I think I need some time away.
I enjoy reading and have blogged in the past about travel and books. My latest blog is a vanity blog. I write about whatever comes to mind, specifically, things I think I need in life. Hope you enjoy!