My sister called today. She's been moving into a new house and making frequent calls to me to discuss the challenges of combining two households of stuff into one. It's been a sometimes difficult undertaking for her as she's also been letting go of lots of baggage, both physical and emotional, during the process. Today's call started much the same as previous conversations.
Sis: "It's so hard figuring out where to put everything, especially when we're combining two houses worth of stuff."
Me: "That's why you should just get rid of everything and buy new."
That's why she calls me. I'm full of good advice like that.
Sis: "Yeah, I know. We've gotten rid of so many things already. But I don't know what to do with Julie."
Me (silence, followed by outrageous laughter): "Oh my god. Where is she now?"
Sis: "Well, you know I have that box of her ashes that's always been in the junk basket on top of the fridge. And I have the small decorative urn that I keep out."
Me: "You still have those? Are you going to keep them or scatter them somewhere some day? Are they in some kind of decorative box? I can't remember."
Sis (deadpan): "They're in a cardboard box. But I guess I could decorate it."
Me: "Oh my hell. Julie would be so mad at us right now!"
This was followed by more ridiculous laughter from both of us, followed by tears. Seven and half years later, this is how we deal with our grief. She didn't call because she needed to know what to do with our sister's ashes. She called because she knew I would understand. We didn't need to say how much we both miss Julie and long to have her present in our daily lives, laughing and joking with us again on a 3-way phone call like we used to do.
Some may find joking about the cremains of our sister morbid, sick and wrong. I know many people find the thought of keeping ashes of a loved one around creepy. I find it comforting.
After Julie died, the four of us remaining siblings each kept a small amount of her ashes. How and where we each choose to keep her in our homes is as different and unique as all of our personalities and the relationship we each had with Julie.
Amy's home was Julie's second home. At different times in her life she even lived at Amy's. When I would visit Colorado, the three of us most often gathered at Amy's house. There were countless family meals together there over the years. We often celebrated holidays together in her house, sometimes with the entire family, more often with just us sisters along with mine and Amy's kids. Many a late night was spent around her kitchen table, just the three of us sisters talking and laughing together late into the night. After Julie died, all of us siblings and our respective families - 15 people total - took refuge there together for a week. Her kitchen was where we would gather bleary-eyed and grief-stricken in the mornings, each day hoping we were all awakening from a bad dream.
When Amy brought home her box of Julie's ashes, putting them in the junk basket on top of her fridge was an unlikely, yet perfect spot. It kept her close in a place that was a frequent family gathering spot and in the heart of Amy's home like she'd always been. She's remained there through two subsequent moves for Amy.
I know ashes, or cremains, are just bits of organic matter. They aren't my sister. For me they're a symbol of her - a tangible reminder of how much I loved having her in my presence.
Amy decided that for now Julie is going in her pantry. Yes, several inappropriate, morbid jokes ensued after that decision was made. I get it though. I think it's a perfect place for now. It keeps her close to the kitchen and the daily rhythms of Amy's family life. Julie's memory is omnipresent in the minds of so many that loved and were loved by her. I love knowing that at Amy's house, her ashes are behind the pantry door, out of sight, yet like her cherished presence in our lives, never, ever forgotten.
Sis: "It's so hard figuring out where to put everything, especially when we're combining two houses worth of stuff."
Me: "That's why you should just get rid of everything and buy new."
That's why she calls me. I'm full of good advice like that.
Sis: "Yeah, I know. We've gotten rid of so many things already. But I don't know what to do with Julie."
Me (silence, followed by outrageous laughter): "Oh my god. Where is she now?"
Sis: "Well, you know I have that box of her ashes that's always been in the junk basket on top of the fridge. And I have the small decorative urn that I keep out."
Me: "You still have those? Are you going to keep them or scatter them somewhere some day? Are they in some kind of decorative box? I can't remember."
Sis (deadpan): "They're in a cardboard box. But I guess I could decorate it."
Me: "Oh my hell. Julie would be so mad at us right now!"
This was followed by more ridiculous laughter from both of us, followed by tears. Seven and half years later, this is how we deal with our grief. She didn't call because she needed to know what to do with our sister's ashes. She called because she knew I would understand. We didn't need to say how much we both miss Julie and long to have her present in our daily lives, laughing and joking with us again on a 3-way phone call like we used to do.
Some may find joking about the cremains of our sister morbid, sick and wrong. I know many people find the thought of keeping ashes of a loved one around creepy. I find it comforting.
 |
| The urn of Julie's ashes I keep in my bedroom. |
Amy's home was Julie's second home. At different times in her life she even lived at Amy's. When I would visit Colorado, the three of us most often gathered at Amy's house. There were countless family meals together there over the years. We often celebrated holidays together in her house, sometimes with the entire family, more often with just us sisters along with mine and Amy's kids. Many a late night was spent around her kitchen table, just the three of us sisters talking and laughing together late into the night. After Julie died, all of us siblings and our respective families - 15 people total - took refuge there together for a week. Her kitchen was where we would gather bleary-eyed and grief-stricken in the mornings, each day hoping we were all awakening from a bad dream.
When Amy brought home her box of Julie's ashes, putting them in the junk basket on top of her fridge was an unlikely, yet perfect spot. It kept her close in a place that was a frequent family gathering spot and in the heart of Amy's home like she'd always been. She's remained there through two subsequent moves for Amy.
I know ashes, or cremains, are just bits of organic matter. They aren't my sister. For me they're a symbol of her - a tangible reminder of how much I loved having her in my presence.
Amy decided that for now Julie is going in her pantry. Yes, several inappropriate, morbid jokes ensued after that decision was made. I get it though. I think it's a perfect place for now. It keeps her close to the kitchen and the daily rhythms of Amy's family life. Julie's memory is omnipresent in the minds of so many that loved and were loved by her. I love knowing that at Amy's house, her ashes are behind the pantry door, out of sight, yet like her cherished presence in our lives, never, ever forgotten.
