So, about recycling…

maybe it can just go too far.  Caution:  reading this post may cause anxiety, nausea, sleeplessness, and incredulity.  Oh, and the haunting, don’t forget the freakin’ haunting.  (Note to self: this caution is meant for you, Linda.)

I used to write fiction.  I can assure you, no one can make this shit up. 

The continuing mysteries in our lives, have become, our lives.  Our lives are dramas, comedies, love stories, and well…of course, mysteries.  All real, though.  And, therefore, not appropriate for all audiences.  (Surely, your lives are all of these too, yes?  Help me out here.)

Nat, Dave, and I went up to Redding this weekend to finish cleaning up, and packing the furniture and memorabilia that Dave and his brothers wished to keep, from their parents’ home.  Dad died almost 12 years ago, and Mom just back in October of 2007 - about four months after Owen died.  Dave spent six weeks after his mom passed away, working on the rehab of their house to prepare it for the now-failing real estate market.  Ken and his daughter, Jennifer; Jon and Donna; Nat, Anna, and Ruby; and Brian and Mary, have all helped in the effort. 

Last night, we began what we thought would be the last big push.  The garage was still full of things, half of which was dedicated to an annual church bazaar, the other half split up between the brothers.  Barbara was not a church-going woman by the end of her life, but her close friend, Terrie was and is, so the arrangements were made months before Mom died.  After the estate sale weekend, we moved what remained, to one side of the garage or the other, depending on its final destination.  Or, so we thought.

Back in time, just about now, last year, everyone here at our house was looking, as time and stamina allowed, for my mom’s ashes.  In moving to this house, between Owen, Lea, Dave, and me, the box with her ashes had been stored neatly away where anyone could find it.  But, no one could remember where.  We looked in those places that made sense, and in all the places that didn’t.  We had those uncomfortable, oh-my-god discussions about what could have happened.  How could we possibly have misplaced Mom’s ashes?  What kind of people are we?

Then, one day, while looking for office supplies, Lea ran across the box in a desk drawer.  Et, voila!  All was right with the world.  (I told this story a while back, but it takes on even greater significance this evening.)  Mom’s ashes are now placed on the lower shelf of the table which holds Owen’s ashes and his altar.  (We know there will come a time in the near future, when we will have to make the decision to release our home of this mausoleum style, and move to something more modern, perhaps something sleek, something Italian, maybe half Italian-half Asian, with black lacquer furniture and various mixed metals thrown in - something less comfortable, but more benign.  (Could we be more uncomfortable?)  We’re just not quite there yet.)

This afternoon, when the three of us were packing the church items into boxes, making sure to separate the keepers to the side, Nat found the box containing Dave’s parents’ ashes - one wrapped in a green velvet bag (Mom), and one in a burgundy velvet bag (Dad).  Their boxes were inside a rather nondescript brown box, one of the many boxes Mom had saved for recycling.  It was the perfect size for the two funeral-home boxes of ashes.  Nat and I made sure to seal it with packing tape, and to remember what it looked like, as it was a special box.

Dave returned from his side-trip to the U-Haul store, where he’d been arguing the price of the truck (we’d been overcharged), and to retrieve the hand dolly they’d forgotten to put in the truck (for which we had been charged) yesterday when Nat and I picked up the Internet-reserved items.  (Different, and not-so-interesting story, but all in the theme of why nothing turns out the way we think it will.) 

Nat and I began packing the truck last night, as Dave had to work yesterday, and arrived late in the evening.  We got a good bit done, in a short period of time, and decided to call it a night, and get to bed early.  We needed to have our wits about us today. 

Wits?  What wits?  We operated in a dreamspace today, remembering Dave’s mom and dad in the clothes still hanging in the garage…decisions, decisions, decisions.  The harmonica, the leaf blower, the dress jacket, the canning jars, the hardware, the keys, the cookie cutters.  Packing and sorting.

When I gave the special box to Dave, I said, “Mom and Dad.  Put this box up in front with the things that are going home with us.”  He took the box, and I was on to the next project.  What I didn’t say, was, “Put this box in the cab of the truck, because we don’t want to mix it up with things for the church.”  But, I thought it.  Why is it, that I say the things that prompt people to shut me up, and don’t say the things that will help?  I may never know.

The truck was fully loaded, and Nat and Dave readied themselves for the trip to the church’s storage unit.  I stayed behind to continue cleaning and figured I’d be done by the time they got back.  I was.  We left for home.

Exhausted after our 3.5 hour drive, back in Petaluma, we opened the truck in our driveway to bring the couch upstairs.  It was the only thing not going to our own storage unit.  We’re hoping to move soon, so thought bringing all of this stuff up the front stairs, into a house already full, was just a waste of time and energy.  I’m tired of not having a couch, though.  So, this was the one item, besides the box with Barbara’s and Fred’s remains, that was scheduled to come into the living room.

I asked where the box was.  After a few minutes of box descriptions, and things left with the church storage lady - a woman named Faith, we decided to look in the truck.  Tomorrow seemed like such a long time away.  We looked.  No box matching the description.  More discussion and recollections, and Nat said he’d asked Dave about that particular box.  They’d mistaken it for another, and we believe THE box is now sitting in a storage unit in Redding.  Barbara and Fred had never thought of leaving Redding, so there was a moment when we thought it would be okay if what we thought might have happened, happened.

Dave called Faith, and explained that they may have left the box by mistake.  That phone call was awkward, but Dave did what Dave does.  He takes awkward moments, and makes them liveable.  Faith, being a church-lady, was thoughtful, and made it easy for Dave to ask for her indulgence in looking for the box.  Amazingly, she laughed with him, and we all felt okay, that the box would be found.  After all, we had faith.

Nat left for home.  Dave got his list together for the store (dinner in this house is often an afterthought), and the two of us went to the front porch to consider what’s next.  He asked if I could sleep tonight, not knowing the whereabouts of the box.  I waited a bit to answer.  I said, “No, I need to know.” 

Lea called, and I told her of our most-recent dilemma.  I told her that while Barbara and Fred were reformed-Lutherans, this was her wish - that the things no one in the family wanted - should go to Terrie’s church bazaar.  All I could think was, how bizarre.  (Neither Barbara nor Fred had wanted any kind of memorial services after their deaths.  While I didn’t understand it, I honored their wishes, along with their sons.)   Dave piped in, and said that a reformed Lutheran is “practically an atheist, an agnostic at the very least”.  Lea said, “Oh…to be haunted by an atheist, for donating their ashes to a church bazaar - how bizarre.”  We roared.  We laughed with the relief of bereaved descendants in the too-recent aftermath of the agony of loss, and were, for just that moment, relieved.

Dave got back in the truck, and looked.  I followed him, and looked with him.  No box.  After he left for the grocery store, I broke down and cried for all the things we say and all the things we don’t. 

Then, I vacuumed the couch like a crazy woman, and by the time he returned with food for the evening, the couch was in good shape for an evening in front of the woodstove.  I lit the fire a while ago, and now Dave’s almost done with his dinner, reminding me of the late hour.  I’m still sitting here, writing about lost remains, and wondering how we get up in the mornings.  I’m remembering our talks with Owen about how life recycles itself.

As is so often the case, Owen would be laughing his ass off.  Jeez, Mom, what the fuck?

Song for the night:  Man in the Box, Alice in Chains

http://youtube.com/watch?v=c9FA9hRcsk0

 

~ by Linda on March 30, 2008.