“We should buy a franchise of Skyline Chili! Dad would have LOVED that!”
Apparently this is what people talk about in the days following the death of a loved one. Everyone figuring out a way to keep them alive. To never forget. To do something big and scary and extravagant like a heaven sized toast to the one we should have done more with… for… when they were alive. Here’s to you dad! Maybe this will make him proud.
Oh, dear one… they have been proud all along.
(Skyline was kind of our “thing” with dad since we were little. He got us hooked and we have been obsessed ever since. We would all eat here everyday if we could. Ok so maybe I actually DID in college since it was right down the street. Oh yeah. They knew me pretty well)
Today was hard. Today was our meeting at the funeral home to sign papers and tie down loose ends. I’m getting a ring with dad’s fingerprint (Is this really happening? Where is my dad? In a cooler down the street you say? Dear God, those words should never come out of a daughters mouth.) I took it pretty well, that is, until they asked what we wanted written on the grave marker and my step mom told him that “we have a writer in the family” that would write something perfect. I thought for a moment. Who? (Cue the tears and hand me a Kleenex) Me? She was talking about me. She thinks I’m a writer. Dad thought so too. But family always tells you nice things like that, right? Not this time. This time my writing would be set in stone. Literally. And she trusted me enough to be the one.
After lunch we went back to dad’s, went through his clothes, buried our faces in his shirts… (ok maybe only I did that), and began dividing his possessions.
Nothing. Zero. Nada. Zilch.
That’s how much you can take with you to heaven.
After a lifetime of collecting antiques, Persian rugs, artifacts, knick knacks and artwork… he left it all to me. Including his vinyl record collection and electric guitar. He even left Boris his beloved Ford truck. And if that wasn’t enough, we will be completely debt-free from our inheritance. (This is NOT the way I wanted to reach Dave Ramsey’s financial freedom) The cost is much too great.
So now, we wait. Wait for the excruciating process of deleting someone from society and transferring their body, their assets and their possessions to their next home. Wait for the ceremonies to pass, the pain to fade and life to evolve into a new normal.
And just like that, the cycle of mourning begins for someone else.
We will be ok. We will all be ok.
Dear Miss Mary 