Today my Mother's body was being cremated. That thought made me shiver. My sisters and I decided to clean Dad's house, to keep ourselves busy, as well as to make things nice for Dad before we left. So I cleaned and cleaned like I've never cleaned before. I cleaned like my Mother taught me. She would have been proud.
The day was a day of busy work for my Father. I'm glad he had things to do. He had to visit the funeral home to settle his "bill." Imagine that, in the depth of his grief he had to go write a check. My parents had visited this funeral home, together, thirteen years prior to my Mom's death to pick out their caskets and flowers and whatever else you pick out when you are pre-planning your funeral. The ironic thing is my Mother died on the exact day they signed their paperwork, thirteen years earlier. Dad modeled his suits for us so we could help him decide what to wear to the funeral. Somehow he looked so small in the suit he used to wear to the office. His shoulders hunched, his stance not as tall as it once was.
I remember so many years ago now, my Dad arriving home from the office, on the dot, every day at 5:30pm. He would come in the garage door, mumble a hello, take the mail out of the mail slot, and walk to his room to change. He would go into the living room, sit in his Lazy-Boy, and begin reading the newspaper. He seemed especially unapproachable at this time, than any other time. Things change over the years and, as I was aging, so was he...I didn't need to approach him just as he was becoming approachable. How I wish I could go back in time and savor that moment...the moment that, at the time, seemed insignificant, but now..the sounds, the smells....you really just can't appreciate it in real time, can you? Anyway...
The day ended, with nothing spectacular happening. I went to bed, dreading the next day, when my Mother's ashes would be placed into the hole in the wall...forever, or at least until the return of Christ.
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