There are things you remember about your parents house - the house you grew up in. I remember the tile pattern in the bathroom, the worn spot on the rug, the cabinet sized record player - things that are stored in long term memory and seldom accessed. Those images are only there because they were imprinted over twenty years of seeing them every day.
One thing I remember is my mom's china cabinet. It was full of cut glass - very delicate wine glasses and thick vases. There were a couple of small toys; a cowboy on a horse and a plastic elephant come to mind.
There were also several pieces of silver keepsakes for my brother Andy and me. Silver cups with our names or initials along with the date we were born. Again, stored in long term memory but rarely accessed.
The other day at Thanksgiving dinner at my brother's house there was a "present" at my spot. In it was my silver baby rattle. My initials (which you can barely make out in the picture) were in the center. Mary had found it, polished it, and sent it back to it's rightful owner. While I certainly don't remember it as a baby I do remember looking at in the china cabinet. And now it is in a new china cabinet along with my mementos and keepsakes for my kids to remember one day.
And mentioning mom brings me to this. Both mom and dad were cremated when they died. I have dad and Andy has mom. There is no reason for it being this way, it just happened that I was there to collect dad's ashes and Andy was there when mom's ashes were ready. Dad, by the way, sits in the box we got him in, located on the entertainment center behind the Disney movies. Mom sat in a similar box at Andy's until early this year when they bought an urn for her and transferred her to it. Well, most of her. Why someone wouldn't make a one-size-fits-all urn is a little mystifying. So, Andy ended up with "leftovers" of mom from her original box.
This morning, Andy picked me up at my hotel, we drove down to Jacksonville Beach, and walked out on the sand. Andy, always stoic and businesslike, went on and on about the dunes being washed away by Hurricane Matthew. He differed all duties to me. With no wind, I waded calf deep into the water and up ended the bag inside the box. Mom instantly spread out in the water and then dispersed among the waves.
There was no fanfare and no emotion - Andy wouldn't have it - and no words other than, "mom would be happy at the beach", "yup" and then talk about the US Navy Thunderbirds.
But, in truth, I felt nothing with or without Andy being there. Mom has been gone almost ten years. Ten years! That hole in my life is still there but it isn't as deep as it was in 2007. I am sure she would be proud of both of us and pleased with where was spread out. I was happy to see mom off and take care of this one final act of her death but there wasn't much more than that little bit of contentment.
True story.
