Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust

Ding Dong.

There’s nothing quite as exciting to my 3-year-old as the doorbell ringing.

“Who’s that, Mommy!?!?” “I don’t know, bud. Let’s go see.” (Hmmm. I wonder. Oh, John said he had ordered something. It’s probably just FedEx or UPS. They ring the bell and just leave. Oh please don’t let it be a solicitor. I’m not in the mood to deal with one of them. Or a neighbor. I’m not dressed to talk to anyone right now.) “C’mon, Mommy!” “OK, I’m coming.” So I paused Return to Oz for its umpteenth viewing of the week, much to my simultaneous pleasure and chagrin. I never thought this crazy little person at my side would take to that movie quite as much as he has. Either way, the doorbell is interrupting our latest viewing of the movie as well as this morning’s very important lesson of what each button on the DVD remote does.

We walked to the door together. I saw a woman standing there. (Damn. Not FedEx or UPS. Who is this woman? Damn. I really don’t feel like talking to anyone.) I opened the door to see this woman holding a box, a sinking feeling coming over me. She had a compassion in her eyes that I also wasn’t expecting. “Hi, miss. Sorry to interrupt you. I do need a signature for this delivery.” (Shit shit shit. I knew this was coming. I forgot but I knew. Shit shit shit.) “What’s that, Mommy?” “Hold on a second, bud. Let Mommy take care of this.” The woman and I fumble a little as I sign for the package. (Did she say sign and print? Or print then sign? Oh for fucks sake, Sandy, does it really fucking matter?) She handed me the package and all I could say was “Oh wow, it’s heavier than I expected it to be.” “Have a nice day, Miss.” “Thank you.” “What’s in the box, Mommy?” (Damn you, Brad Pitt. Damn you and the fact that I will never be able to hear that line for the rest of my life without picturing your screaming that line at Kevin Spacey.) “C’mon, bud. Let’s go back inside.” “But what’s in there, Mommy?” (Well, it’s the ashes of my dead brother. You know, the shithead that overdosed on heroin a few weeks ago? Yea well that’s him in this box here. Holy shit, Sandy, you can’t say that to him. He doesn’t understand this stuff and he’s only 3. Yea, well what are you supposed to tell him? You can’t tell him that there’s a person in that box. You’ll confuse him. You’ll upset him. You don’t even fucking understand yourself how that can be your brother in there. Oh stop it, Sandy. That’s not your brother. That’s just some fucking ashes. You know better than that. That’s not your brother.) “Mommy, why are you crying?” (Fuck. I don’t want him to see me upset.) “Mommy is alright, bud. Let’s go back inside.”

We walked back inside the house and I put the box down on the top of the desk. Where exactly does one put their dead brother’s remains? “Mommy, what’s in there?” “Hold on a second, bud.” (Shit, I have to call my dad and let him know that he’s here. Stop it, Sandy. It’s here. Not him. That’s not him. Those are just ashes in that box. That’s not your brother. Oh whatever. Either way, you gotta call Dad and tell him.) “Mommy, what are you doing?” “Mommy has to go make a phone call, bud. I’ll be right back.” “Who are you calling, Mommy?” “I have to call Peka.” “I wanna talk to Peka.” “Not right now. You can call him later. Mommy needs to talk to him.” “About what?” (About the fact that his dead son’s burned up body just showed up at our house. Stop it, Sandy. You can’t say that shit to him.) “I just have to tell him something. I’ll be right back.”

“Hey, Dad.” “What’s wrong?” “Oh nothing. Just wanted you to know that Ray’s remains just got delivered here.” “Yea, I figured it was either going to be today or tomorrow.” “Yea, that’s what they told me when I spoke to them last week. They said they would ship on Tuesday and it would take a day or two. I knew. Just sorta threw me now that it’s here.” “I know. Well just put the box away somewhere and we’ll deal with it when I come down next week.” “Ok, I’ll do that. I put it up so Liam can’t reach it.” “Ok good.”

We got off the phone. It was then that I remembered how heavy I thought the box was. (I wonder how much that box actually weighed. I’m going to go check.)

9 pounds, 1.6 ounces. An entire life reduced to a box that weighed 9 lbs, 1.6 oz. $37 in shipping fees. Did you know that the US Postal Service ships human remains? Well, now you do. I didn’t until I was told that was how his remains would be returned to me. I don’t know why I’m so fascinated by the weight of this box. It’s so stupid. It’s so pointless. I’ve been to funerals before. I’ve seen dead bodies before. I was in the room when my mom died. But for whatever reason, I am completely fascinated at the weight of this box. I don’t know what I thought the weight of a cremated body in a box would be. Is it weird that if I’d really thought about it before the box arrived, my husband and I would have probably set an over/under on the weight? We’re weird like that. Always betting on stupid shit just for our own amusement. Like the weight that my brother’s dead cremated body would weigh when it was shipped to me in a box.

“Mommy, what are you doing?” (Oh shit, how long have I been standing here staring at this box?) “What’s up, buddy?” “I wanna watch a show. Can you put a show on for me?” “Sure, bud.” “And can I get a juice?” “Of course.” “And can you move my red blanket for me?” “OK.” “And can I play on my computer while I watch a show? Can I do both?” “Yes, for right now, you can.”

Because for right now, Mommy is a little messed up and a little sad and a little unable to concentrate. (Shit, Sandy. You still need to finish work today too. Fuck fuck fuck. I should let John know about that box too. Yea, I’ll text him. But what do I say?) “Ray’s remains just got delivered. I’m more or less ok. Just wanted you to know.” “Do you want me to leave early? I love you.” “Nah. I’m alright. I knew it was coming today or tomorrow. Probably why I had a hard time sleeping. Just kind of weird.” (Just kind of weird? Really? Just kind of weird? What the fuck does that even mean? Fucking weirdo.)

“Mommy?” “Yes, bud.” “I love you.” “I love you too.” (He totally know something is wrong. Oh well. There is something wrong. There’s lots wrong. He’ll need learn that’s how life is. He’ll be OK.)

Sigh. Deep breath. Ok, Sandy. You got this. Time to regroup and focus. Dinner to get prepped. Work to get done. Laundry to do. Get back to your day. (Can’t concentrate. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. Goddamn Catholic shit stuck in my head. Rattling around over and over. Is it “Remember, man, that you are dust or onto dust you will return?” or is it “Remember, thou”? What does it fucking matter? Need to get some work done.) Sat down at computer to log back in. Pulled up work batch. (Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. What the fuck does that even mean???? What do you mean you don’t remember? How many years did you go to Catholic school? And unto dust you will return? Yep, ain’t that the fucking truth. Cuz there’s my brother in that fucking box. Dust. Ashes. Cremated. Remains. Shit shit shit. Can’t focus. Maybe if I write. Maybe if I get it on a page and out of my head, maybe then I can get back to my normal day. Yea right? What is so fucking normal about today? Your brother’s body is in that fucking box. This isn’t normal. It’s not a normal day. But silver lining...it’s done now. Never again can your brother’s ashes be delivered to you in a box. This can’t happen again. Thankfully. Silver fucking lining. But yes, writing helps. Sit and write.)

So that’s what I’ve done. My morning. In a nutshell. It’s still too fresh to tell if this will help or not. But there’s work to do and I had to try something.

“Mommy?” Hahahahaha. Oh yea, and a 3 year old to tend to.