Staying visible has become quite exhausting. I've had to develop places to hide when I feel like fading away may just be easier. Sometimes very late at night, I sit in parks and smoke cigarettes. An odd choice for someone who cared for two parents who died because of smoking. But somehow, at this time in my life, it makes me feel like they are right here with me. And how I miss them. In fact, some days I actually think about digging them up just to scream at my mother, "You were so wrong about Him!" But then I laugh. There's nothing to dig up. Just a headstone.
When my father died, he was cremated and wanted his ashes sprinkled in the ocean near their Florida house. Of course, my mother decided she couldn't stand the thought of being apart from him, so in the closet he goes, in the brown box underneath the portable potty. Not even kidding. Two weeks after his death my mother is also diagnosed with cancer. Crap. Eventually, she also decides to be cremated but wants her ashes sprinkled over her prized rose bushes. And lucky me, instead of leaving me some lovely piece of jewelry, she leaves me Dad. He's still in the closet and it's now been some four years; still under the portable potty. One week before she dies, she has an epiphany. No one's ashes are being sprinkled anywhere. Now she wants to be buried with my Dad near my house. So after she dies, after sending Him out to my parents house to get my father finally out of the closet, out from underneath that darn potty, I find myself driving around for days with both my parents in the trunk. And the curious thing is, I quickly got use to having them with me. So I suggest to Him, why don't we forget about burying them and just keep them in the closet? Heck, my Dad seemed to be doing pretty well in there so far. and goodness knows, they don't take up much room or make any noise. He looked rather horrified at my request.
They were buried at a lovely little cemetery not far from our home. But, I still wish they were in the closet...
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