Grief Notes: Preparation

I stood in front of it unable to do anything.

I couldn’t remove it one last time from the shelf in my closet.

I cried heavy, silent tears and remembered him and our life together.

I took it to the dining table we bought together.

I stood in front of the ‘American Tourister (Since 1933)’ blue travel bag that contained a blue linen-type bag from Ashes to Ashes that contained a brown rectangular plastic box that contained a transparent plastic bag that contained my love’s ashes.

The bag was zip tied with a metal pendant that read, ‘Grandview MP. CR 367. 2034’

To remove it, I slit the taped cover of the brown box with a green scissors I remembered he used to use.

I wept when I opened it.

I removed it. Was heavy and light at the same time.

I was surprised it was the color of sand.

I saw what looked like shards of bone and touched it through the plastic.

It was strange to me that it looked like a bag of clay.

Because it came from a rectangular box, it would not fit in the cylindrical cannister I was given to transfer it to.

I had to massage his ashes into a new shape to get it in.

Felt like his body continued to be handled but I was happy I was the one doing it—not some stranger with strange hands prodding him all over again.

Felt like clay—especially because it was so tightly packed.

I got it in. My hope is that he will never be moved again.

I twisted the end of the bag in such a way that when closed it would always remain that way.

Some ash was on the end of the bag. I felt it between my fingers.

Some tears fell in the cannister and I feel that my DNA is with him now. We will always be together in that tight space—just the two of us.