This is harder than I expected. I am sitting here at BWI waiting to catch my afternoon flight to Little Rock, AR. I keep fighting that burning sensation behind my eyes that signals the start of tears. This is the first stop on Keith’s bucket list. He will dig for diamonds tomorrow.
Last night was the first time I moved his “urn” – the ammo can that he resides in, sitting on a cabinet in the kitchen which was the favorite spot for Chef Keith. It was the first time I actually opened the bag of his ashes. This was the closest I have been to his actual physical presence since I laid over his body and wept in the funeral home. Chopin’s Prelude in C was playing through the speakers and later that night, in the quiet of the house, I clumsily played it on the piano.
Last night I wept over him again. I found myself with a dilemma. I needed to find something appropriate to scoop a part of him out of the bag. I couldn’t bring myself to use an ordinary kitchen spoon. He should be handled with something better than that. Then I remembered his silver birth spoon. The handle is a stork and on the concave side reads “Birth Record” with his date of birth and first name. Also on the spoon is his time of birth – 3:23 PM, and his weight – 6 lbs 10 ozs. A strange thing happens when you lose someone you love. Every thing you learn about them after they are gone feels like the most important piece of information you could ever hold. That spoon now stays with his ashes inside the ammo can.
As I placed a small part of him in a bag, I thought back on the cruise he insisted I go on. It gave me my second wind and without that break, I don’t know that I would have had the strength to carry him through to the end. It still didn’t change my longing to be with him, or the worry, or my eagerness to get back home. I can still hear him tell me “You better go on that cruise. You’ve been looking forward to it all year. And if anyone gives you grief about it, they will have to deal with me.”
Well Keith, here I am with a tiny birth spoon’s worth of you tucked into a little stuffed dog. He’s sitting quietly next to Cow. I forgot your favorite neck pillow. I miss being able to rest my head on your shoulder while we wait to board. I don’t want to go to the bathroom because you aren’t here to watch my bags. I keep expecting to look up and see you walking over with a Starbucks in hand for me. I want to put my sunglasses on so people can’t see me cry.
Despite all of this, I know we can do this. We have a bucket list. We will be on Time Square for our anniversary. We will go to Cuba, even though I am not too keen on doing it. We will take an Alaskan cruise. We will visit Pearl Harbor with your son. We will go to Amsterdam. I promise you, if anyone gives you grief for traveling around in a little stuffed dog with your crazy Cow toting wife, they will have to deal with me. You taught me how to stand my ground each and every time you protected me with your pit bull tenacity. What you couldn’t teach me is how to move into this strange new world of mine with only a handful of your ashes. Today, I will start to learn.
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