May 8, 2011 by Kim
I wrote these two posts back in 2009, while Hubs and I were living in Texas… seems fitting to post this for Mother’s Day
Richard’s mom passed away in late 2007.. which is what kind of pushed us to move out here…
She had many physical and psychological problems throughout her whole life.
She had agreed that, after her passing, her body would be used for research…
Today, her remains were returned to us.
Being that FatherInLaw wasn’t sure that he’d be home to accept them, I was volunteered.
I didn’t think much of it when Richard informed me that her ashes would be delivered here.
I just nodded my head and didn’t give it a second thought.
…until about 15 minutes ago, when the doorbell rang.
Our regular mailman stood there, holding a package…
It required a signature, so I signed for it, scanning my memory about what I could have possibly purchased.
Upon taking the slightly heavy box from him, I glanced down at the writing on it…
I had forgotten.
Basically, I was holding Richard’s mom… in my hands.
I don’t mean to sound cooky, or weird
but I just have the weirdest feeling right now…
I definitely feel another presence in our house right now…
Every couple of minutes I feel on the verge of tears…
I haven’t stopped shaking since I placed the box on my kitchen counter.
I never really knew his mom, we spoke on the phone a handful of times.
It was always pleasant.
Think what you want….
She’s here with me right now, I can feel it.
Well… FatherInLaw came and picked up the ashes…
As he was heading for the door he said
“Well, we’re gonna go”
tucked the box under his arm and walked out the door….
I had a rare soft moment for FIL.
…I can’t even imagine what it would be like….
While I was waiting for him to show up I just kept passing the box….
It’s so strange to me…
A woman…. lived a life….. many years…
fell in love…. stayed in love…
Carried 5 children in her womb, under her heart.
*one being my own husband*
so many years
so many months
so many days
How strange is it that this woman
ended up in a little box, on my kitchen counter.
I know it was “just” her ashes… but I feel like her whole life was crammed into that box.
It’s somewhat over-whelming.
Every once in a while, I would actually stop and squat down and look at the box.
I would straighten up and look down at it….
I would pick it up and feel the weight of it in my hands….
There is something I am trying so hard to communicate here…
but it seems our language doesn’t contain the right words…