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.
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| 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.
I didn’t know Julie was still on the fridge. That sounds just wrong for me to type, but quite honestly when Amy first put Julie's ashes there so long ago, it seemed right for a part of her to be there. After all, she was there in the middle of the kitchen anyway. You know - "The absence of your presence” ...
ReplyDeleteYou and I both know how close to hysteria laughter and tears can become when it comes to dealing with grief, loss, and the crazy things we see, do, and say. Thankfully, we can share those things together. Thankfully, we get it. Thankfully, you and Amy are having these talks and sharing these stories. Julie would understand. She would totally understand. I can’t help but wonder what funny thing she would have to say about it all. We all know this is not a laughing matter, but at times, laughter helps, and it is usually followed by tears, lots of tears.
Your comment prompted tears, lots of tears. I know all too well that you understand the fine line between laughter and tears when grief is involved. Love you.
DeleteLaughter is healing...and so are tears. We all follow our own path in healing our hurt. You are fortunate to have your family on the journey.
ReplyDeleteI cannot tell you how much I love this. I kept Iris, my aunt, in the cottage closet for three years. And every year, my cousins and I got hysterical when we talked about Iris in the closet instead of in the lake where she was supposed to be. OK -- there was a reason. I didn't want to do it alone; I wanted more of a ceremony with others who loved her. But we could never get together at the lake at the same time. Finally, one day, while the neighbors were partying on the beach (because they always party on the beach, all day, every day) we walked out in the water up to our knees, stood in a circle, apologized to Iris for keeping her in the closet so long, all shared a memory or two about her and in she went at the place where she spent all her youthful summers and much of her life. Then we all tromped back in past the neighbors who were probably very confused.
ReplyDeleteWe still laugh about Iris in the closet and to be honest, I kind of wish I'd kept a little bit of her there.
Grief and loss are wild and crazy emotions but they are also wrapped in memory -- whatever would they have said? Probably they would have laughed -- Iris would have. I bet Julie would have too -- with mock irritation and yet knowing the love you all shared that kept you close. One thing is for sure -- she would get it.
Sending love and knowing that holiday times have their challenges. But holding her close keeps a part of her alive. And being thankful for the gift of someone's life -- no matter how long or how short -- is indeed a wonderful feeling. Sending hugs.
My mother kept my father's ashes in its original unadorned box for years. I remember when she moved into a new home, and she said to me, "go get your dad out of the trunk of the car." We both laughed. Now they are both gone and their ashes are mixed together and buried.
ReplyDelete