Dust to dust
A week or so ago, the urn for my Shih Tzu’s remains arrived in the mail. She’d been cremated immediately, and her cremains came in sealed plastic box, with sticker on the outside that held her name and her birth and death dates. The original plan had been to bury the ashes under a bench in the backyard, marking the spot with a Chinese foo dog, as all the Shih Tzu statues I found looked nothing like her.
But the more I thought about it, the more I didn’t like the idea of burying her ashes, for the same reason I didn’t like the idea of burying her. Nor did I like the idea of disturbing her ashes and spreading them to the winds. So the little plastic box sat out for months until I found the site I ultimately ordered the urn from, having apparently, by lack of action, determined to keep her ashes.
When it arrived, I tested to see if I could just drop the plastic box into it, as I’d intended and thought I could do from the measurements on the website. However, the oak was thicker than expected and it didn’t fit. I had to decide whether to send it back, or to open the plastic box and move the ashes from one container to the other. Supposedly, they were bagged inside the box. Of course, I hadn’t wanted to disturb the ashes, which is why I ordered the urn in the first place.
So the urn sat on the kitchen counter while I mulled what to do. I decided to open the plastic box and see what was what to make my decision. Inside was a Ziploc bag, which, inexplicably, had not been zipped, though I noticed it before it was too late and took care of it. Such a small amount of matter in the baggie. It was surreal to be holding her ashes, looking at them, trying to reconcile what was in the bag with the dog I loved.
I thought then about A’s ashes, which were spread in Big Basin the weekend of Thanksgiving last year. I was not invited. And I wonder now if that was such a bad thing, because I think I would’ve had a much harder time dealing with his ashes than I did with my dog’s. Not that I think his family did the wrong thing; on the contrary, I think it is what he would’ve requested, had he thought to do so. But I think it takes great strength to be able to put your hand into those ashes and scatter them, and I don’t know that I would’ve had it. That would not be the body I remember touching so lovingly. I find that while in the abstract, I appreciate the symbolism of setting what remains of the body free, as the soul now is, in my concrete reality, I want to hold on to every single bit I can that is connected to the ones I love.
On the other hand, I wonder if there was not some acceptance of the difference between body and soul to be gained from the ritual. I look at that bag of ashes for my dog, and it is not her. I don’t know what it is, and it is strange, but it is not her, not really. Perhaps those who spread A’s ashes felt that reality, and got some healing from it, that I did not. And I wonder if his brother has spread the remainder in the Grand Canyon yet, as was planned last I heard, and whether I should attempt to make the trip up there and join him when he does. I haven’t made up my mind yet what I want, but fear asking, lest I be told I am not welcome, or, less personally, that it is too late.
In any case, I am not in control of that situation, but I am in control of the one about my dogter, and even so, I find it hard to make decisions. I thought I had made up my mind when I ordered the urn, but it only brought up more questions with the plastic box didn’t fit. Once I opened the container and held the bag of ashes in my hand, I can’t help but wonder if, that inhibition already breached, if I shouldn’t just scatter her ashes and send the urn back. I suppose, in the end, it hardly matters what I do. It doesn’t matter to her, certainly.
I think what I’m struggling with is the relative healthiness of holding on versus letting go, and question myself constantly as to whether I’m doing too much holding on, to her and to him, and thereby holding myself back from healing. I honestly do not know the answer, any time I ask myself the question. How can I know? I’ve never been here before. I’m new at this. I don’t know when to push myself, or if I should at all, and if so, how much? I feel like I’ve come a long way since A passed, and am, at least to outward appearances, largely engaged in the activities of my life that I was before he left, if with somewhat less joie de vivre then I once had. Is that not enough? Will not the rest fall in place in time, and with patience? Or do I have to force myself to the edge of what I can stand to heal further? I don’t know, though it seems to me anything involving the concept of “force” is probably not a good thing.
I guess right now, the idea of scattering her ashes is no longer unthinkable, but it does not feel doable. I think it would cause me some real emotional discomfort, if not outright pain. So I’m not going to do it. I will put her ashes in the urn, with her collar, and her prescription bottles, and some other stuff that belonged to her, put a picture in it, and hold onto it for awhile. There is nothing to stop me from doing something else further down the road if I feel compelled to do it. I have had enough pain in the last year; I do not need to be a masochist besides.