You’re Keep Her Where?

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Slash and Burn.”

Last night the family tried to make a concerted effort to stay away from any conversations about medical procedures.  A night where we just pretended other things were funnier, more important, or maybe we just felt like a little avoidance would be appropriate.  So the conversation turned to the impending internment of my great-aunt.  [how that is less morbid than talking about cancer, I have no idea.  But it gets better!]

My aunt died on January 17th of this year and has remained comfortably ensconced in a warehouse since that point.  There was a church service, so it’s not as if we just pulled a National Lampoons Vacation and tied her to the top of the car.  There had been talk about how to transport her from Worchester, MA to Greene, Maine.  I was all for putting the casket in the back of my dad’s SUV.  Volvos aren’t really built for that kind of work!

If Barbie had been in the room she would have been laughing the entire time.  When she smiled you knew you had her involved in a story.  Both my father and I were the benefactors of her cooking when we were in college.  I learned to bring people, I just couldn’t consume the volume of food she would prepare.  Even then, the guys in my frat were taking home doggie bags of their own.  Ever seen someone prepare a cheesecake on a jellyroll pan, those huge 1/4 sheet things most people just use for cookies?  She used to deny doing it, until you pulled out the pictures.

If Pinterest or Instagram had been around, she would have had quite the cult following.

Why wait so long to inter the body?  Well as of last week, when they sent a picture of the headstone, there was still ice on the ground.  Even though the cemetery is a family one, run by one of my cousins, they close for business between Halloween and May 1st.  No one wants to walk around in the piles of snow, and the winter was a nasty one in the New England area.  Imagine having to plow a path through 10 feet of snow to carry a casket.  I’m seeing us all being buried somewhere in there with her.

So she’ll be placed in the last remaining quadrant of this particular plot.  Joining her husband, who died long before I was born, on one side.  With her parents resting on the other.  The family will gather, at least those who are willing to make the trip.  There’ll be the typical lunch served at a local restaurant, and yet more stories will be told.

Hopefully I’ll be able to make the journey.  I had to skip the service since it fell on a day when the doctors suggested it was better if I not get on a plane.  And if I don’t my aunt wouldn’t be upset anyway.  My father was her favorite in this world and later I filled his shoes.  Her picture sits on my dresser at home, but my mind is filled with tons of memories of whale watching in Dorchester or walking the National Mall with her to see the Arboretum.  Sitting on the sun porch as a child and listening to Red Sox games just as she did with her father her entire life [she has a vial of dirt from Fenway Park in her casket, don’t ask just a friend who helped me out!]

Love you Barb!

Now let’s edit.

Last night the family made effort to stay away from any medical conversations.  We just pretended other things were funnier, more important, or maybe we just felt like a little avoidance would be appropriate.  The conversation turned to the impending internment of my great-aunt.  [how that is less morbid than talking about cancer, I have no idea.]

My aunt died January 17th this year and remains comfortably ensconced in a warehouse.  There was a church service, it’s not as if we just pulled a National Lampoons Vacation and tied her to the top of the car.  There had been a talk about how to transport her from Worchester, MA to Greene, Maine.  I was all for putting the casket in the back of my dad’s SUV. Volvos aren’t really built for that kind of work!

If Barbie had been in the room she would have laughed.  When she smiled you knew you had her involved in a story.  Both my father and I were the benefactors of her cooking when we were in college.  I learned to bring people because I just couldn’t consume the volume of food she would prepare.  The guys in my frat took home doggie bags of their own.  Ever seen someone prepare a cheesecake on a jellyroll pan?  She’d deny doing it, until you showed pictures.

If Pinterest or Instagram had been around, she would have had quite the cult following.

Why wait to inter the body?  As of last week, they sent a picture of the headstone, ice still on the ground.  The cemetery is a family one, run by my cousin, they close for business between Halloween and May 1st.  No one wants to walk around in the piles of snow, and the winter was a nasty one in the New England area.  Imagine having to plow a path through 10 feet of snow to carry a casket.  I’m seeing us buried somewhere there with her.

She’ll be placed in the remaining quadrant of this plot.  Joining her husband, who died before I was born.  Her parents resting on the other.  Family will gather, at least those who make the trip.  There’ll be the typical lunch served at a local restaurant, more stories will be told.

I had to skip the service, the doctors suggested I not get on a plane.  If I don’t go, my aunt wouldn’t be upset.  My father was her favorite and later I filled his shoes.  Her picture sits on my dresser, my mind filled with memories of whale watching in Dorchester or walking the National Mall to see the Arboretum.  Sitting on the sun porch, listening to Red Sox games just as she did with her father. [she has a vial of dirt from Fenway Park in her casket, don’t ask who helped me out!]

Love you Barb!

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s