Here’s a phone call you never think about getting…ever.
“Hello?”
“Hi Mrs Ball, your husband’s ashes are ready for pick-up.”
This just gets more
and more unbelievable, I thought.
“OK. Thank
you. I will be there this
afternoon”, I said.
I drove to the Mortuary, which ironically was the library
when I was growing up, with a slightly sick feeling in my stomach. I walked in and back to the
office. The Director had my four urns on his desk. My beautiful
cousin, Michelle, owns MemorialGallery.com and had created the most incredible
urns for us. There was one big one
with a Raiders logo on it. That
was the urn with half of Gordie’s ashes and it would be placed in a niche
(which is basically a wall with compartments) at the cemetery in our town. The second urn contained the other half
of his ashes and was a disposable one so that we could scatter them in a place
with special meaning. The other
two urns were tiny little replicas of the big Raiders urn…one for each of my
sons. They had tiny little Raiders
logos and an inscription that read:
My Dad
Daddy loves
Nathan forever and ever
Each little urn contained a pinch of Gordie’s ashes. These were for the boys’ rooms. My Dad’s friend had recommended that we
do this. It was one of those
things I would never have thought of on my own and am so glad my Dad’s friend suggested it. The little
urns were perfect. My cousin had done a spectacular job.
I was almost afraid of the urns.
“Um, are the lids on the urns screwed on tight?” I
embarrassingly asked.
“Yes”, the Director answered, “they will not come off. Except on the disposable one that you
will be scattering. Let me show
you how it works”.
He showed me.
Thankfully he did not really open it. I was not ready to see what was inside.
He put all four urns in a box for me and I carried it out to
my car. I stood next to my car in
the parking lot.
Where do you put urns in a car? I thought. The
back? Hmmmm, that seems
weird. The front seat?
I could not believe I was having this conversation in my
head. I finally just put the box
on the floor of the front passenger seat.
I drove like a Grandma as I headed home. Even though the Director told me that
the lids would not come off, I was totally freaked out. I kept looking at the urns while I was
driving to make sure they did not tip over. As I was sitting at a stop light, I realized that I did not
want the big urns at my parents’ house.
I was worried that they would fall off a shelf and break and there would
be ashes all over the place….just like the movie “Meet the Fockers”. I changed direction and headed to
the estate where we lived until Gordie died. Nobody was living there. Most of our stuff was still there. I would leave the big urns there. Gordie loved living at the Estate so I hoped this would be
OK with him.
I parked the car in the driveway, carefully lifted the box
of urns out of my car and walked up the stairs like I was carrying a newborn
baby. I gently set the box down as
I opened the door and turned off the security system. I picked the box up again and walked into the living room
with the giant picture windows that looked out to the beautiful backyard. The room had a built in bookcase. I gingerly placed the big Raiders urn
and the disposable urn on the bookcase. I angled the Raiders urn so that the Raiders logo was looking
out the window at the backyard.
I am friggin’ nuts, I
thought, he can’t see out of the urn.
I sat on our couch and looked at the urn for a long time.
My husband is in
there. My hot, handsome husband
with the awesome body is in a jar, I thought. How is this possible?
I sat on our couch in our old home and cried. And then I just lost control. I started screaming…at the top of my
lungs.
NO! NO! NO!!! I hate
you God!!! I hate you God!!!
I ran upstairs and threw myself on our bed. I buried my nose in his pillow. It still smelled like him. I cried ferociously. After weeks of quietly crying in my bed
at my parents’ house, or on my runs, I just let it go. I was hysterical. It all came out. It was the first time that I had really
been in a place where nobody could see or hear me. I laid there for nearly an hour and cried huge, body
wracking sobs. When the crying
started to subside, I sat up and noticed a moving box that some of my friends
had put sheets and towels in the day after Gordie’s death. I slowly climbed off the bed and went
to the box. The pile of anger in my belly ignited once again. I kicked the box. Once.
That felt good, I
thought.
I kicked it again.
And again. And
another time. And then I was
kicking the shit out of that box.
It felt so good. I beat up
on that box for a good 10 minutes.
It was almost as therapeutic as a run. When I was finished, I went to the bathroom, grabbed some
tissue, blew my nose and wiped my eyes.
I went downstairs, got the box with the two little urns for the
boys, turned on the alarm, and locked the door.
That night I showed the urns to the boys and placed them on
the dresser in the room they were sharing at my parents’ house. Nathan loved that there was a Raiders
logo on it. I showed him a picture
of the big matching urn that I had taken before I left the estate so that he
could see it was a tiny replica of the one that would be placed in the
niche. Wyatt, who was age two, had
really no idea what the hell the urn was.
Gordie did not stay long at the estate. His Mom hated the idea of him alone at
the estate so I gave him to her to keep at her house until the niche was
ready. Gordie loved his mom as
much as he loved me and the kids so I know he was happy to be at her
house.
A couple of months after he died, the niche was finally
ready. My parents, his family, the
boys, and a couple of my close friends met at the cemetery to place him in what
I call “the double-wide”. It was
a niche that fits two urns so that the boys could place me next to Gordie
someday. Gordie, who took great
pride in driving a pick up truck, wearing a White Trash baseball cap, and hated
pretension probably loves that he’s in a double-wide. The cemetery caretaker opened it up and I tried to place the
urn in the compartment.
Uh oh. It does not fit. It’s too tall.
I looked at our family and friends for help. Gordie’s brother came over to help. He was able to wedge it in…kind of
tilted. But it was in. We could not help but laugh.
I would not spread the other half of Gordie’s ashes for
another year. His family had
originally requested that we spread them at the estate but I realized that was
not the most special place to Gordie.
I knew where he would want to be spread. In the summer of 2013, Gordie’s best friend, Greg, helped me
spread the ashes. I will never say
where we did it because it’s probably not really allowed but I know it’s
what Gordie would have
wanted.
I never, ever expected human ashes to look like what I saw
come out of that disposable urn.
Thank God Greg was with me because it caught me so off guard that I had
to take a breath and nearly dropped the urn. Luckily Greg grabbed it. We spread the ashes together, said a prayer for Gordie and
both shed a tear.
The boys and I visit Gordie’s double-wide just 2-3 times a
year. The boys hate the cemetery
and I totally get it. What little
boy wants to be constantly reminded that his Dad is in a wall, instead of
walking next to him? And every time
we visit, I can hear Gordie whispering in my ear as we walk up the path to his
double-wide:
Please don’t force
them to come here Stace. I’m not
here anyway.
