Sunday, August 16, 2009
HOME AT LAST
We went to pick up our Little Man today. The ashes didn't do what I thought they would. Guess there's really nothing except time as they say. Since his passing, we have received so many wonderful messages of comfort from people we hardly know and some we've never met. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. You'll all never know how much it meant.
This is ARFROD—A Reasonable Facsimile of Devlin, the little man's ashes (we're looking for the perfect urn), the tag that was on the tasteful forest green shopping bag he came home in and his collar. A fitting tribute to the best damn dog that ever lived, don't you think?
Ashes are strange. You look at the tin and try to imagine it having some sort of personality. Himself actually opened the tin and looked inside. I had to admit out loud I was expecting him to see something recognizable. Silly.
I had a boss a few years back that wasn't a tyrant. She was one of us which is why the corporate world didn't get along with her all that well. She has that spirit that attracts people. Always up, always happy and always willing to look at things in a different way.
When her husband passed away, far too early, not only had they planned the funeral together before he died, they decided it would be a joyful occasion. Long story short, no one seemed pleased with the atmosphere, in fact some folks seemed downright uncomfortable. She had his favorite music playing, a jazz number straight out of New Orleans, his favorite shoes sitting jauntily on top of the coffin and lots of great anecdotes that had filled their lives with joy.
A few months after the funeral I got a phone call from her. Oh, I thought, she's having a bad time. Just get it out, I said hoping to be of some help, knowing I couldn't. She tried to speak in between sobs but it wasn't long before I realized she was laughing and not crying! I couldn't believe it. I was glad she was laughing but I couldn't imagine at what.
"It's John!" she croaked between racking sobs of laughter. "He's.... he's..."
"It's John! He...he's in..."
"What? What's wrong??? What about John?"
Finally she managed to squeak out..
"He's in the DUST BUSTER!!"
I lost it, again, and the two of us laughed until we cried. When we regained some composure, she explained she had been transferring John's ashes to the brand new, expensive, one of a kind urn she had taken great care in choosing and purchasing, when it slipped out of her hand and her late husband ashes spilled out and ended up embedded in the beautiful, deep pile, wedgewood blue carpet on the bedroom floor.
There was no retrieving them without suction of some sort. She could only gather the ashes with a dust buster, at which time she completely lost it and considered it was his way of telling her he preferred causal instead of high end. And there he rests to this very day.