In the Wake of Her Passing...

It's been rough since my last entry, as most people can imagine. The trip down, the cleaning out of her things, and settling her affairs has been unimpressive. When I accepted her remains... Oh. I didn't accept her remains? That's right. The funeral home was too incompetent to fill out the death certificate and prepare her ashes (which are now apparently called "cremains") for travel, in the week that I had allotted . From the look on the woman's face, it amused them to delay. The day before we left, they told us -- via telephone -- that everything was arranged. My wife made a point of asking if there was anything else they needed from us. "No. No," they said. "Everything is in order." Then, Friday morning, they informed us that "...everything will be ready Monday..."; until Monday arrived, then it was, "We didn't know where she was born, so we couldn't fill the certificate out".

She would probably have had a better sense of humor about the situation. (You reading this. Mom?) She could find humor in anything, given enough time.

It was grueling sifting through the pictures. It wasn't bad enough to have her history pieced together in snapshot, but there had to be enormous gaps, too. Her possessions were few enough -- damn little to represent an entire life -- but momentos were everywhere. Sentiment always outweighed monetary value in her eyes. Her heart shone through in many things.

It's the busy season for work, so my time in Florida was short. I had to be back in Maine by the 3rd of August. We got back 1:00am on August 2nd. My wife garnered her first speeding ticket in South Carolina, which she earned by doing 90mph in a 70mph zone. That's my Amanda! She once jumped a road (launching from the stop sign that she'd blown past and landing four driveways down the block, in front of a police cruiser) with my mom in the back of the car. Mom's reaction was priceless. In my mind, I can still see the death-grip she had on our headrests. Later on, we all had a laugh. I still rib Amanda that the cattle aren't saying, "Moo."; they're saying, "Mooove!" She has a good sense of humor about it, too. (Obviously. She married me, didn't she?) So I got back to a backup of clientele, and had to bust @$$ ever since. Yesterday slacked off a bit, but there was drama of another kind to fill the gap.

When we walked through the door, there was a manila envelope waiting for me. It was from my Uncle Jimmy. His visits, throughout my childhood, helped inspire the creative juices that were beneath my flesh. I hadn't spoken to him in -- at the very least -- twelve years. It was sad that it took this to break the silence (sort of). There wasn't a single word in that envelope. It was filled, instead, with pictures. Some of those pictures were of her and I (as a child, shudder), and some were of her. Most of them were black-and-whites of her youth. It was very touching. There was a specific photo -- one that was completely new to me -- of her as (I would guess) a teen. It was that picture that stopped me. I'd seen her as a toddler and little girl, but never as an adolescent. Maybe it was the emotion-of-the-moment, but I could see hopes and dreams in her young eyes. I spent a miserable moment realizing the enormity of what she sacrificed for me. It was the first picture that I could see the woman I knew peeking out of (though it was just a shade of what was to be), and is very precious to me. If you read this, Uncle Jimmy, thanks. Thank you very much.

I want to say thanks to my friends at LH for their reassurances, thoughts, and prayers. They reminded me that we're only "alone" if we choose to be.

'Til next time...