Day 52: Bourbon Buck: Bourbon, Lime Juice, Ginger Beer, Bitters
So I've returned. I've dove into the fray of funeral planning, relatives, in-laws, speech writing and a general sense of overwhelmedness, and come out the other side. The business of planning a funeral has certainly has given me a lot to write about, but I'm not quite ready to write about it yet.
I'm probably having a few revelations which are likely obvious to many, but along with the death of a spouse, I'm dealing with the first breakup of my adult life. In addition to all of the heartbreak and grief, there are number of practical concerns that have arisen in the last couple months. A lot of these are, perhaps, mundane to some, but they've been fascinating to me.
Any relationship, especially one involving co-habitation, comes down to a series of compromises. Ideally, this is minimal. Hopefully, it's more which side of the bed to sleep on and less conversion to Scientology. To be honest, Dahlia and I had very few disagreements in our relationship. No one converted their religion or moved to a city that they didn't want to, so in the long run, we made things easy on each other. Compromises can be far more subtle, far more subconscious: from what TV show to watch to who gets to use the car any given day.
Compromises can be as small as where to put the compost bin. There are things I had no idea I cared about have now become front and center because their main use has become... I suppose irrelevant is the right word. I have a room, that was up until two weeks ago, was filled with quilting supplies. With my fine motor control being what is, dealing with a bunch of small strips of fabric and sharp objects is pretty much out of the question. I had Dahlia's friends take everything they could use and eventually I'll throw out or donate the rest, but even before that, I've got a lot of empty space to use. All the clothes, junk food, fabrics and nick-knacks that were once important parts of Dahlia's life are just things taking up space. All of the removal has made for a pretty empty house. Filling it all will take time.
Beyond the empty space and the quiet house, there's how the days are filled. I'll play a video game instead of watch a movie. When I do watch something, it's more likely to be comedy than period dramas now. I'll order Indian instead of Thai. Each of these things will remind me of the absence in my life, but I do them anyway because it would be silly to do the opposite. Frankly, the opposite would just remind me more, and be just silly. To do something because of a dead woman is ridiculous and Dahlia would be the first to say it.
Of all the things about learning to be single, doing the shit you wanted to do in the first place should be the easiest one. Perhaps it is, but it doesn't make it easy.
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
Stage 3: Urn shopping
Day 32: B-complex vitamins with water. It was a long weekend with football teammates
Dahlia's ashes came last week. I spent the whole day doing nothing. I waited all day for the package to arrive, waiting for the bottom to drop out. I had to wait a while, too. Our wonderful Postal Service, ever causing me to question my faith in socialism, decided to wait until 5pm to arrive with an unceremonial cardboard box. Seeing the remains makes things real in a way. I panicked and felt a wave of anxiety come over me when opening the box. I was holding every physical remnant of Dahlia in a five pound box.
I called Jeff from Elemental Cremations, who has been an absolute Godsend, to figure out next steps. He told me to take some time with cremains. He kept using the pronouns "she" and "her" to describe the ashes. "She's in a plastic bag." "I can transfer her to an urn." and "Take some time to figure out what you want to do with her." It was off-putting. Even though it was frankly indistinguishable from the ashtray outside of the Two Bells on a Friday night, the remains were Dahlia in a very real, if very incomplete, way. He told me to look at urns, figure out what type of urn I wanted. I did a bit of this in the days after, and, honestly, in the days before.
I found a simple, bamboo number. The one thing I didn't want was a typical, Grecian urn, sitting on the mantelpiece for all eternity, next to a picture of Dahlia with her faithful lapdog, the scent of potpourri wafting in the air. I wanted something that won't be found by an alien civilization millennia from now and thought to contain a Athenian priestess. With a vague idea of what I wanted, I set out exploring the wide internet for the perfect urn.
Jeff pointed me at a wonderful place called Lundgren Monuments. These urns were quite amazing, but a little too exquisite and more than Dahlia would want me to spend. Besides, she would never want cremains to be the focus of a room. It's far too morbid. The focus of the room should be the people in it, not the things around them.
Undeterred, I decided to explore the Wild West that is the internet for other urns. I went to a couple sites to see what my other options were. There were the obvious options: vase-shaped, cross-adorned brass urns and the like. Beyond those, however, the amount of options was far beyond the limits of my imagination.
Living on the top of the Left Coast, even after 23 years in the Midwest, you can forget that Middle America exists. Despite all the odds, Middle America still lives, and, as a result, Middle America still dies. When Middle America dies, they mourn in a way which is beyond the comprehension of you or me. Now, I understand that hobbies are very important to an individual. A motorcycle ride, a fishing trip or traveling to watch NASCAR can be a semi-religious experience to some people. I don't do these things myself, but I get their importance.
It's one thing to enjoy these activities. I enjoy tons of Midwestern things from Football to Coney Island hot dogs. That said, I would never want to rest for all eternity inside a piece of tube steak, yet there are urns for all sorts of hobbies and interests. For example, you can get an urn for the motorcyclist, cowboy, or race enthusiast.
Part of me wants really hard to make fun of this, to point out the absurdity of motorcycle engine urns and just laugh. If there's one thing that drew me to Dahlia, it was her ability to look at the absurdity of existence and laugh. She would have seen these things and laughed, and let's be honest, it's pretty fucking funny.
That said, grief is a powerful force. We all make decisions which seem very strange from the outside. To a random observer, I've probably drank too much and laughed a little too loud since Dahlia left. If a spouse wants to remember their beloved on a golf course with his trusty five iron, it's probably not my place to get pious on how one grieves. Then again, my furry little bastards are never going into one of these.
Dahlia's ashes came last week. I spent the whole day doing nothing. I waited all day for the package to arrive, waiting for the bottom to drop out. I had to wait a while, too. Our wonderful Postal Service, ever causing me to question my faith in socialism, decided to wait until 5pm to arrive with an unceremonial cardboard box. Seeing the remains makes things real in a way. I panicked and felt a wave of anxiety come over me when opening the box. I was holding every physical remnant of Dahlia in a five pound box.
I called Jeff from Elemental Cremations, who has been an absolute Godsend, to figure out next steps. He told me to take some time with cremains. He kept using the pronouns "she" and "her" to describe the ashes. "She's in a plastic bag." "I can transfer her to an urn." and "Take some time to figure out what you want to do with her." It was off-putting. Even though it was frankly indistinguishable from the ashtray outside of the Two Bells on a Friday night, the remains were Dahlia in a very real, if very incomplete, way. He told me to look at urns, figure out what type of urn I wanted. I did a bit of this in the days after, and, honestly, in the days before.
| Does not contain the remains of Helen of Troy |
I found a simple, bamboo number. The one thing I didn't want was a typical, Grecian urn, sitting on the mantelpiece for all eternity, next to a picture of Dahlia with her faithful lapdog, the scent of potpourri wafting in the air. I wanted something that won't be found by an alien civilization millennia from now and thought to contain a Athenian priestess. With a vague idea of what I wanted, I set out exploring the wide internet for the perfect urn.
Jeff pointed me at a wonderful place called Lundgren Monuments. These urns were quite amazing, but a little too exquisite and more than Dahlia would want me to spend. Besides, she would never want cremains to be the focus of a room. It's far too morbid. The focus of the room should be the people in it, not the things around them.
Undeterred, I decided to explore the Wild West that is the internet for other urns. I went to a couple sites to see what my other options were. There were the obvious options: vase-shaped, cross-adorned brass urns and the like. Beyond those, however, the amount of options was far beyond the limits of my imagination.
Living on the top of the Left Coast, even after 23 years in the Midwest, you can forget that Middle America exists. Despite all the odds, Middle America still lives, and, as a result, Middle America still dies. When Middle America dies, they mourn in a way which is beyond the comprehension of you or me. Now, I understand that hobbies are very important to an individual. A motorcycle ride, a fishing trip or traveling to watch NASCAR can be a semi-religious experience to some people. I don't do these things myself, but I get their importance.
 | ||
| Bubba loved three things: Bud Light, Motorcycles and America |
It's one thing to enjoy these activities. I enjoy tons of Midwestern things from Football to Coney Island hot dogs. That said, I would never want to rest for all eternity inside a piece of tube steak, yet there are urns for all sorts of hobbies and interests. For example, you can get an urn for the motorcyclist, cowboy, or race enthusiast.
Part of me wants really hard to make fun of this, to point out the absurdity of motorcycle engine urns and just laugh. If there's one thing that drew me to Dahlia, it was her ability to look at the absurdity of existence and laugh. She would have seen these things and laughed, and let's be honest, it's pretty fucking funny.
That said, grief is a powerful force. We all make decisions which seem very strange from the outside. To a random observer, I've probably drank too much and laughed a little too loud since Dahlia left. If a spouse wants to remember their beloved on a golf course with his trusty five iron, it's probably not my place to get pious on how one grieves. Then again, my furry little bastards are never going into one of these.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)