LJ Idol Week 3, Prompt: Morgenmuffel
Mar. 5th, 2022 12:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mollywheezyI have a confession to make: I am a Morgenmuffel, which is now my favorite new word. I am not a morning person. If I have to be somewhere at a certain time in the morning, my husband Arthur will drag me out of bed to make sure I am up. When he was up, and I was still in bed, I have had entire conversations with him with no memory of them later. I instituted the rule that he is not allowed to talk to me, at least not with the expectation of my remembering, until I am vertical, have drunk at least half a glass of green tea, and preferably have showered. He has done very well following my rule, but the rest of the world, not so much. Why do crises always happen before I’ve even finished my tea?
Since my dad died, I have been sleeping in much more frequently because grief is exhausting. One morning in late December, I had gotten up at about nine, and was just getting in the shower when my cell phone rang. I glanced at the number, didn’t recognize it, and got into the shower. I had just turned off the water when the phone rang again. I poked my head out of the shower door to look, and it was my mom, so I reluctantly answered the phone.
My mom said the funeral home called her and my dad’s death certificates were ready. I reassured her I would go get them. She also had tried to order groceries but their delivery driver had Covid, so they wouldn’t deliver, and she needed things. I told her I would go to the store for her, and said I needed to call her back to get her list, when I wasn’t dripping water on the floor. I hadn’t planned to leave the house that day, but plans so often change.
I dried off and checked my phone, seeing a message. The unknown number had been the funeral home saying I could pick up my dad’s ashes and death certificates. I looked at the time of the funeral home’s call to me and the time of my mom’s call. They were only fifteen minutes apart. The funeral home was NOT supposed to call my mother about anything, since she can’t drive. Thankfully they had not mentioned my dad’s ashes to her, since she said repeatedly she did not want to hear anything about them. I would have thought the funeral home director could have waited fifteen minutes for me to call back before calling my mom.
I told my husband Arthur what was going on and said, “I thought we could spread Dad’s ashes in the garden at our house, or maybe plant a tree and plant the ashes with it.”
Arthur replied, “We have issues with the trees we already have. I don’t want to plant more trees, and anyway, having your dad’s ashes here is creepy.”
I didn’t respond, but as I went to the store, I was contemplating other places to inter my dad’s ashes. I hadn’t expected that Arthur wouldn’t want them in our own yard. When I talked to my dad about his wishes, he said to use him to fertilize a garden. I considered the Botanical Gardens in my town. My family loves the Botanical Gardens, and that’s where we went on the last outing with my dad, one week before he died. We drove through The Galaxy of Lights, an annual Christmas Lights display. Arthur and I are members of the Botanical Gardens, but asking to inter my dad’s ashes there would require a conversation with a stranger, and I’m not sure I could emotionally handle it.
As an alternative, I considered scattering his ashes on Lake Guntersville. My dad grew up near a similar lake, and loved the lake when we visited, except that would take away the “fertilize a garden” aspect of interring ashes.
I also considered the garden at my church. My dad loved our pastor Christine and loved the church. He had planned to join. I knew I would need to officially ask the Session (the church leadership) for approval, but they are all friends, so I didn’t foresee a problem.
I acquired groceries for my mom and for us, and drove to my mom’s apartment. It was pouring rain by that time, so she met me downstairs under the covered drop off so I didn’t have to hike across the parking lot in the rain. I loaded up her walker basket with her groceries and said I was getting the death certificates next. She said she was surprised the funeral home director called her, but that he had been very nice. I was glad of that.
I went to the funeral home and signed the release form for my dad’s ashes. The form said in red ink across the top, “DO NOT CALL WIFE. ONLY CALL DAUGHTER” and listed my name and phone number. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes out loud, and walked out carrying my dad’s ashes. I was sobbing before I even reached my car as a wave of grief struck me. I sat in the driver’s seat of my car in the rain with my dad’s ashes on my lap and sobbed. I started to dial a friend’s phone number and stopped, remembering the groceries I had in the car. I needed to talk to someone and needed a long conversation, but it couldn’t happen in the funeral home parking lot with groceries in the car, so I managed to pull myself together.
I also could not drive with my dad’s ashes on my lap. I had only seen ashes once before, when we scattered the ashes of Arthur’s grandma and her second husband Geoff on the intercoastal waterway, but I knew what size box to expect and knew how heavy they would be. I wanted to make sure I kept them safe so I wedged the box under the driver’s seat of my car. It fit, but barely. I had stopped crying and drove home, emptied the car of groceries, and then debated what to do with my dad’s ashes. Arthur wasn’t home since he had a doctor’s appointment, but I didn’t know if he would want them in the house or not. I also didn’t want to put the ashes somewhere I would lose them. I remembered when Grandma died, my mother-in-law called me and said, “I need you to pray! I can’t find Geoff!” She did eventually find Geoff’s box of ashes in the back of the spare bedroom closet, but I certainly didn’t want to misplace my dad’s ashes before we interred them. I decided to leave them under the seat of my car. I would know where they were, and they wouldn’t be in the house in case that bothered Arthur.
I made the phone call I had wanted to make earlier to a livejournal friend who has done this before. She listened to me ramble on for an hour and a half and was such a comfort. I felt immeasurably better after talking to her.
When Arthur came home, he asked, “Where did you put your dad’s cremains?”
“They’re under the driver's seat of my car.”
“It’s okay if you want to bring them in the house. It won’t bother me. I’m sorry I didn’t want to bury them in our yard. I don’t know why I think that’s creepy but having them in the house isn’t.” He shrugged.
“Your grief doesn’t have to be logical or make sense. Even on a good day I’m rarely logical and often don’t make sense.” We both laughed.
“But do you really want to keep your dad’s ashes in the car?”
“Yes. My dad drove me to school every morning until I was old enough to drive and that time in the car was always our special time together. Driving home from the funeral home, I was comforted by having my dad’s ashes in the car. Not a permanent solution but good for now. And I won’t misplace the ashes like your mom did with Geoff.” Arthur laughed. “I’m going to text Christine and ask about burying the ashes in the garden at church. Do you think that would be okay?”
“I think your dad would like that.”
The next morning, I slept in until 10:30! There were no phone calls or crises, and I drank my tea while I read Livejournal. It was glorious.
Since my dad died, I have been sleeping in much more frequently because grief is exhausting. One morning in late December, I had gotten up at about nine, and was just getting in the shower when my cell phone rang. I glanced at the number, didn’t recognize it, and got into the shower. I had just turned off the water when the phone rang again. I poked my head out of the shower door to look, and it was my mom, so I reluctantly answered the phone.
My mom said the funeral home called her and my dad’s death certificates were ready. I reassured her I would go get them. She also had tried to order groceries but their delivery driver had Covid, so they wouldn’t deliver, and she needed things. I told her I would go to the store for her, and said I needed to call her back to get her list, when I wasn’t dripping water on the floor. I hadn’t planned to leave the house that day, but plans so often change.
I dried off and checked my phone, seeing a message. The unknown number had been the funeral home saying I could pick up my dad’s ashes and death certificates. I looked at the time of the funeral home’s call to me and the time of my mom’s call. They were only fifteen minutes apart. The funeral home was NOT supposed to call my mother about anything, since she can’t drive. Thankfully they had not mentioned my dad’s ashes to her, since she said repeatedly she did not want to hear anything about them. I would have thought the funeral home director could have waited fifteen minutes for me to call back before calling my mom.
I told my husband Arthur what was going on and said, “I thought we could spread Dad’s ashes in the garden at our house, or maybe plant a tree and plant the ashes with it.”
Arthur replied, “We have issues with the trees we already have. I don’t want to plant more trees, and anyway, having your dad’s ashes here is creepy.”
I didn’t respond, but as I went to the store, I was contemplating other places to inter my dad’s ashes. I hadn’t expected that Arthur wouldn’t want them in our own yard. When I talked to my dad about his wishes, he said to use him to fertilize a garden. I considered the Botanical Gardens in my town. My family loves the Botanical Gardens, and that’s where we went on the last outing with my dad, one week before he died. We drove through The Galaxy of Lights, an annual Christmas Lights display. Arthur and I are members of the Botanical Gardens, but asking to inter my dad’s ashes there would require a conversation with a stranger, and I’m not sure I could emotionally handle it.
As an alternative, I considered scattering his ashes on Lake Guntersville. My dad grew up near a similar lake, and loved the lake when we visited, except that would take away the “fertilize a garden” aspect of interring ashes.
I also considered the garden at my church. My dad loved our pastor Christine and loved the church. He had planned to join. I knew I would need to officially ask the Session (the church leadership) for approval, but they are all friends, so I didn’t foresee a problem.
I acquired groceries for my mom and for us, and drove to my mom’s apartment. It was pouring rain by that time, so she met me downstairs under the covered drop off so I didn’t have to hike across the parking lot in the rain. I loaded up her walker basket with her groceries and said I was getting the death certificates next. She said she was surprised the funeral home director called her, but that he had been very nice. I was glad of that.
I went to the funeral home and signed the release form for my dad’s ashes. The form said in red ink across the top, “DO NOT CALL WIFE. ONLY CALL DAUGHTER” and listed my name and phone number. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes out loud, and walked out carrying my dad’s ashes. I was sobbing before I even reached my car as a wave of grief struck me. I sat in the driver’s seat of my car in the rain with my dad’s ashes on my lap and sobbed. I started to dial a friend’s phone number and stopped, remembering the groceries I had in the car. I needed to talk to someone and needed a long conversation, but it couldn’t happen in the funeral home parking lot with groceries in the car, so I managed to pull myself together.
I also could not drive with my dad’s ashes on my lap. I had only seen ashes once before, when we scattered the ashes of Arthur’s grandma and her second husband Geoff on the intercoastal waterway, but I knew what size box to expect and knew how heavy they would be. I wanted to make sure I kept them safe so I wedged the box under the driver’s seat of my car. It fit, but barely. I had stopped crying and drove home, emptied the car of groceries, and then debated what to do with my dad’s ashes. Arthur wasn’t home since he had a doctor’s appointment, but I didn’t know if he would want them in the house or not. I also didn’t want to put the ashes somewhere I would lose them. I remembered when Grandma died, my mother-in-law called me and said, “I need you to pray! I can’t find Geoff!” She did eventually find Geoff’s box of ashes in the back of the spare bedroom closet, but I certainly didn’t want to misplace my dad’s ashes before we interred them. I decided to leave them under the seat of my car. I would know where they were, and they wouldn’t be in the house in case that bothered Arthur.
I made the phone call I had wanted to make earlier to a livejournal friend who has done this before. She listened to me ramble on for an hour and a half and was such a comfort. I felt immeasurably better after talking to her.
When Arthur came home, he asked, “Where did you put your dad’s cremains?”
“They’re under the driver's seat of my car.”
“It’s okay if you want to bring them in the house. It won’t bother me. I’m sorry I didn’t want to bury them in our yard. I don’t know why I think that’s creepy but having them in the house isn’t.” He shrugged.
“Your grief doesn’t have to be logical or make sense. Even on a good day I’m rarely logical and often don’t make sense.” We both laughed.
“But do you really want to keep your dad’s ashes in the car?”
“Yes. My dad drove me to school every morning until I was old enough to drive and that time in the car was always our special time together. Driving home from the funeral home, I was comforted by having my dad’s ashes in the car. Not a permanent solution but good for now. And I won’t misplace the ashes like your mom did with Geoff.” Arthur laughed. “I’m going to text Christine and ask about burying the ashes in the garden at church. Do you think that would be okay?”
“I think your dad would like that.”
The next morning, I slept in until 10:30! There were no phone calls or crises, and I drank my tea while I read Livejournal. It was glorious.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2022-03-05 06:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-03-05 10:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-03-05 10:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-03-05 10:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-03-06 12:04 am (UTC)I love your creative and truly joyous decision about a temporary place for your father’s ashes. You have a gift for telling a story in an engaging way!
no subject
Date: 2022-03-08 03:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-03-06 03:50 am (UTC)Still thinking of you!
We're finally getting the deed for my mom's house transferred over to us, and I was fine until I left the lawyer's office after signing the papers, and then... I wasn't. I made it home before I started crying (but then couldn't go in because I have a kid recovering from surgery on my couch and didn't want to upset him, so I sat in my car in the driveway until I quit). Grief is stupid.
no subject
Date: 2022-03-08 03:38 pm (UTC)All of the "have to's" after a death seem to set me off, so I get it. I've done a lot of crying in my car, or in the shower.
*HUGS*
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Date: 2022-03-06 04:53 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2022-03-06 10:35 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2022-03-08 03:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-03-08 03:38 pm (UTC)I'm sorry to hear about your father, and I hope the garden next to the church was approved.
- Erulisse (one L)
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Date: 2022-03-08 03:58 pm (UTC)Thank you. And yes, it was. We'll do the burial sometime this spring.
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Date: 2022-03-09 01:57 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2022-03-09 08:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-03-10 03:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-03-10 12:35 am (UTC)Grief is definitely tricky. My mum's ashes are in a wooden box that my sister kept. We didn't have a conversation about what she wanted done with them after she was cremated, and she'd only decided on cremation when she was already sick with cancer and I'd had a conversation with her about how I'd want to be cremated when I die. I still haven't thought about what I'd want beyond that, but this entry has certainly given me pause to think about it further.
no subject
Date: 2022-03-10 03:51 pm (UTC)It is. Grief is hard.
Thank you for your thoughtful comments!
no subject
Date: 2022-03-10 08:02 pm (UTC)