“I don’t know what to do about Mother,” said Bill absently, as he perused the menu, and I was immediately at a loss. Bill and I have worked together for 20 years and I thought I was up to date on current events in his family but now I wasn’t so sure because, if memory served, his mom had died years ago. But now I wasn’t sure.
“Oh?” I said carefully.
He nodded. “We seemed to have misplaced her,” he said, then he noticed my look of incomprehension and sighed.
“After she was cremated I went to pick up her ashes,” Bill said. “But we didn’t know what to do with them so we put them in the linen closet. But they were in the way so we moved them to the guest room. But when I converted the guest room to my office I put them somewhere else but don’t remember where.” He shrugged. “She’ll turn up eventually,” he said and I nodded, slack-jawed.
“Don’t get all judgmental,” he said. “I suppose you know where your mother’s ashes are?”
“Right at Queen of Heaven Cemetery where we left them,” I said.
“Of course you would know,” said Bill sarcastically. “You’re so organized.”
The next week I had lunch with my friend Elizabeth and I told her Bill’s story. She shrugged. “I’m not sure where my Dad’s ashes are,” she said. “I think my mother has them in her wall unit. Unless my brother has them. We don’t know what to do with them.”
“Your dad died in 2006,” I pointed out.
“What’s the rush?” said Elizabeth. “It’s not like he’s going anywhere.”
Elizabeth and Bill, it seemed, were not unique. “I think Mom’s ashes are at my sister’s house,” said Sara, frowning slightly. “At least I hope they are.”
“What about your Dad?” I asked.
“I know exactly where Dad is,” said Sara, but then she blushed slightly. “We never picked Dad’s ashes up from the funeral home,” she said. She paused. “But a friend told me they’re not allowed to throw them away,” she said anxiously. “I sure hope she’s right.”
Rob is highly organized, just like me. “Of course I know where my mom is,” he said, somewhat offended that I even asked. “I know where my dad is too,” but then he paused. “They’re in the trunk of my car,” he said a trifle defensively. “I keep meaning to do something with them,” he said vaguely, “but….” he sighed but then he brightened. “My car lease is up in October, so I’ll have to do something with them by then.”
It was beginning to look like everyone but me had a box of ashes stashed away in a closet or a glove compartment. Except for Colleen: She has nine. She told me that both her parents and her husband’s parents had all divorced and remarried so, over the years they collected all the ashes of all four parents and all four stepparents.
“Mausoleums are expensive enough,” said Colleen, “but then they charge you $1000 for an urn you can buy at Target for $9.95.”
She shook her head. “But Bob and are downsizing to a condo soon and we won’t have room for all eight of them. But I forgot to mark the boxes,” she said, “so now I’m not sure who’s who.” I nodded. “I’d hate to just dump my mother somewhere by mistake and keep Olivia instead.” Olivia was the stepmother she detested. “That would be really bad karma.”
I did a quick calculation. “Wait,” I said. “You have eight parents and step-parents but nine boxes of ashes. Who’s in Number Nine?”
“That’s the problem,” said Sara darkly. “We’re not sure.”
Serena knows Colleen and she was appalled by this story. “That’s just gross,” she said, “and disrespectful.”
I finally felt vindicated that someone felt as I did. I nodded. “What did you do with your parents?” I asked.
“I had their ashes converted into jewelry,” she said. She pulled back her hair to show me what I thought were diamond earrings. “Say hi to my mom and dad,” she said.
