The Ashes

** I know, I know, I'll get to June eventually...maybe before August is even here."

The Ashes

This evening, I took great effort to actually, surprisingly, make dinner as Dave and I were both home for the night. You would think after looking at recipes 8-10 hours, all day long, I would actually know what’s for dinner. I dunno – something is not sinking in because I never seem to know what I’m going to make at night.

I digress. After getting dinner in the oven, kids calmed down on the couch, Dave comes walking through the back door and leaves a gift bag on the kitchen table. “Hey honey, what’s in the bag? Did you bring me home something special.” “Well, yes, I did bring you home something special.” “Well, let me see – what is it?” “It’s K.C.” “It’s K.C.? Ohhhhhh…it’s K.C. Geez, do you think you have to leave her in the kitchen?” “Please Su, grow up.”

I have an aversion to ashes. It’s true – but there is a reason. Well, perhaps not a rational reason, but I prefer that the dead meet the earth intact, no need to burn remains, human or not, so we can carry vials of our dearly departed around our neck, in canisters that might be mistaken as ash trays, or decorative vases that you might accidentally water, and in that case, you don’t have ashes, you have mud. Cremated mud…ick.

About five years ago, I had my first experience with ashes. I’ve been fortunate in my life, that while our lives seem to be like Mercury constantly in retrograde, we’ve been blessed with few deaths among family, friends or even furry friends. But five years ago, I came face to face with “The Ashes” and it’s scared me from having K.C. rest comfortably on our kitchen table.

In 2003, after returning home from work, I came through the front door and picked up the mail, including a brown, paper-wrapped box from UPS. Hmm, I wonder what’s in the UPS box. I turn the box over, only to read the following, “Human Remains. Handle with Care.” I highly suspect screaming and dropping the box on the floor does not qualify as “handling with care” but when you aren’t expecting a dead person to show up at your door step, you never know how you’ll react. “Dave – someone sent us a DEAD person’s ashes TO OUR HOUSE!” “Oh, Grandma came?” “Umm, what do you mean ‘Grandma came?’” And so it goes that Dave’s deceased Grandma of seven years was making the tour and came to our house. I asked Dave to kindly remove Grandma from the kitchen table (I’m sensing a pattern here) and Dave obliged putting Grandma in a safe and loving part of our house.

Many months later, after being told, that Grandma had been sent to her final, final resting place (our home was merely a pit stop on the way to eternal happiness) I found myself in my closet looking for a pair of shoes that I had not worn in some time. I moved a box to get to the shoes, got myself dressed and then looked at the box, which had the all too familiar markings, “Human Remains. Handle with Care.” Geez, I thought Grandma left, now she’s one my shoes? Ugh. “Dave, what’s up – Grandma’s still here…on my shoes no less, Grandma has over-welcomed her stay, she needs to leave.” “Alright, alright, I’ll call my mom.” And arrangements were made to have Grandma transported to Indiana where she could have a proper final resting place.

Each year, we send one kid to hang out with Dave’s parents for a week. It’s a great chance for them to have one on one time, and gives us a momentary break from the chaos of three children. Such was the case in 2004 (notice this is one year later) when I drove Delaney to a half way point in Indiana and met at the local McDonald’s. I was never so happy to see a bathroom, and Dave’s mom was very happy to see her granddaughter. “You go, I’ll take care of getting Delaney in the car so we can leave.” When I returned home that evening, child-less, Dave said, “Did my mom get everything out of the car?” “I assume she did – I mean she did take Delaney, her car seat, and assorted gear for a week ‘o fun.” “Oh, O.K., I was actually wondering if she took Grandma.” “WHAT?” “Umm…yeah, I put Grandma under the driver’s seat and asked my mom to make sure she took Grandma out of the car.”

And now you know why, right or wrong, I have a problem with ashes. K.C.’s ashes were given to Kathy tonight, with Kathy saying, “You are welcome to borrow the ashes if you ever need to.” A time share dog is one thing, time share ashes? Not my thing. “That’s okay Kathy, I have issues with ashes. You go ahead and keep them.”