Funny Story

Ok so I'm going back in time a little bit on this one - I realized that I really did, after all, want to tell a funny story, even if it might be off-putting to some. This little incident happened in the springtime. It all started with me staring to get uncomfortable with the fact that I am in charge of both of my parents' ashes. Both of them had wanted to donate their remains to the University of Utah Medical School and we were able to make that happen for them when they passed away. In each case, about a year and a half to two years later, our family received delivery of a package of their ashes. They were contained in brown plastic cases, each with a plastic bag inside. 

I know - this doesn't seem like much of a funny story, but hang in there with me. 

So, like I said, I was uncomfortable. It wasn't because I had the ashes in my possession - I didn't mind that at all. But just having them in a drawer in their ugly brown plastic boxes felt wrong. My siblings and I have made plans with what to do with them, which will be to bury them and create a memorial site up in the Uinta Mountains on property that my brother has purchased. However, it's probably going to be quite some time before we make this happen. And in the meantime, I just needed to do something nicer to feel respectful and not negligent. 

Luckily I have a dear dear friend who is a potter, and recently decided to start making urns for just this purpose. They are beautiful, and as soon as I saw them, I knew that having one would ease my mind completely. They are pretty pricey though. So, I asked my friend if he thought that one urn could possibly contain two sets of ashes. He said he was confident that one would be plenty. I have no idea why he might be familiar with the volume of human ashes, but I trusted him and purchased just one urn.

Now, I want you to know that I wanted to go about the transfer of my parents' remains as lovingly and respectfully as possible. I cleaned my home, I waited for a quiet afternoon, and I even said a prayer before I began. 

I know that if I haven't offended or grossed anyone out by now, then now's when it will likely happen. 

So. With great reverence, I opened the brown box and tried to move my mom's ashes into the urn. However, the mouth of the urn was tiny. And there was no way that bag was going to compress down into the opening. So...I got a new bag, placed it in the urn, opened my mom's bag, and tried to neatly and quickly dispense the material into the opening. It went ok. I started to do the same thing with my dad's remains. (Can you even believe I did this? Or that I am telling you the story?) It was then that I got very nervous about the size of the urn. It did not look at ALL like all of the ashes were going to fit in there. Crap! What the heck was I going to do then? I mean, the bag was open, the ashes were pouring in; it wasn't going to be exactly simple to stop in the middle of this.

Then, I had a powerful memory of my dad. Want to know what one of his greatest joys was? It was finding the smallest tupperware container possible to fit leftovers in. If the leftover food fit exactly into a container with no room left over, he felt he had done his job well. Did it mean he sometimes had to really stuff the food in there? Yes, yes it did. He'd tap the container on the counter, compressing everything and working out air bubbles. Troy and I even saw him once slam a tupperware down on the counter hard enough to send mashed potatoes shooting into the air and sticking to the ceiling. That one didn't go so well. But mostly it was one of his greatest talents. 

The light bulb came on. I started tapping the urn, shaking it and settling everything down inside it. I slowly poured the rest of the ashes, jiggling the jar all the while, until the last of it trickled in and came exactly to the rim of the urn. Just enough room to put the lid on. I couldn't help it. As tender and also kind of weird as this was, I also started laughing my head off, thinking of my dad and his tupperware skills. I sure channelled him that day.

Now the urn sits alone in the cupboard of a beautiful antique wash stand that my parents handed down to us. I love it, and it also makes me smile every time I think of it.