Six Days From Now
I used to have a boss who had a unique philosophy regarding decision-making. His mantra was “I try to put off making a decision as long as I can because if I wait long enough, sometimes the decision gets made by itself.” I always thought that was a poor strategy, especially for a boss to adopt and employ. I don’t have an issue with waiting until all the facts are gathered before deciding, I just don’t like the procrastinating. I can’t say if my old boss and his procrastination philosophy was spinning through my head when I decided last September to postpone the final committal of Coleen’s ashes to the earth until “sometime in the spring” or if I am just making the correlation now. Either way, I am regretting my decision to wait.At the time, it seemed the right thing to do. Coleen had been cremated and there was no urgency to do anything with her ashes (or cremains, as the funeral industry likes to say) so I decided to decide later what to do. I liked my decision at the time. We had been through so much already I thought it would be better to wait until later to take that final step. It would give me time to find the perfect burial plot and come to terms with her death. We could have one more chance to gather in her memory and say goodbye.
Today, I am six days away from the day that Coleen’s urn and ashes will be buried, committed as they say, to her final resting spot. It will be in a beautiful spot in a beautiful cemetery that she hand-picked. I have made all the arrangements and have invited all the appropriate guests. Mostly just family with a sprinkling of close friends Coleen gathered over the years. Some out-of-town guests but mostly local. The priest from our church who presided over Coleen’s funeral service seven months ago will perform the committal service also. She had previously counseled Coleen and knew her well and as she is retiring at the end of this month, I wanted her tp do this final service for Coleen. I have hired a cellist to perform briefly before and after the service. During Coleen’s final weeks and days, she developed quite an affinity for the cello. I played cello pieces on the stereo at home while she was resting in our living room and on the night she died, we had them playing in her Hospice room. I have no idea what her final thoughts were, but I know for certain the last music she heard was from a cello. Six days from now we will all hear it again.
In my planning, I have reopened so many wounds. An old friend once spoke of recreating old pains as “ripping out sutures” and I feel that is an appropriate description for what I am feeling. I have these scars all over me. They are on my heart, on my soul, in my memory and they flow through my entire being. They are mostly at bay, controlled by my activities and my reluctance to constantly live in the past. The scars are a result of the open wounds created by losing someone so close and the resultant slow and deliberate healing inspired by so many factors around me. I have heard it said that the wounds heal, but the scars are there forever. I feel that way today. Except I feel like it is necessary to let the wounds heal a second time as I have ripped them back open. Wonder what that scar will look like?
Much of me today wishes this were all over. That I would have done the burial at the time of the funeral. One death, one day, one set of wounds and scars. Instead, in my decision to delay the inevitable, I feel I have created a monster. For myself at least and quite possibly, everyone else as well. I have had Coleen’s urn in my dining room since September and truthfully, have almost considered keeping it there permanently. Not that I would do that, but the thought has occurred to me. But isn’t that just me holding on? Of course it is. My decision to postpone the final piece of Coleen’s life is all about me and her and us. It’s me digging in and pulling back on the rope with all my strength to keep from letting go. It’s me refusing to commit her ashes to the earth because she still belongs with me and I with her. It’s me refusing to say my last goodbye.
I didn’t think this would be so hard but I have been wrong about so many things in my life, I shouldn’t be surprised to underestimate this one. People say this is good, it will bring closure. In a way I thought I already had closure but I guess as long as I still had the urn in my possession, there was still closure yet to come. Six days from now, that will happen. We will gather beneath a tree on a sunny spring morning. There will be family and friends and two beautiful granddaughters running through the sun. There will be flowers and tears, the wonderful music of a cello playing and words spoken in Coleen’s memory. It will be a beautiful experience and the attendees will talk fondly of it for years to come. And my wounds will once again begin to heal and my scars will start to reform. And then maybe my procrastination will somehow make sense. Six days from now, enough time will have elapsed that we can embrace the wonder of Coleen’s life. Seven months ago, we were still mourning the loss of it.
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