Tuesday, November 13, 2012

Stashing Ashes


My mother-in-law, Nan, treated me with respect, kindness and tremendous love; something she never felt as a daughter-in-law herself. She said she'd never let me feel the way she did, an outsider in the family. And I didn't. Ever.

In the summer, we lived together for long stretches of time at the lake. Nan and I didn’t always see eye-to-eye but we shared common thoughts and feelings about family and friends, a love of books but most importantly we shared laughter. We would laugh so hard sometimes she thought she'd pee her pants. As funny as she could be, she was also intensely proper. It was such an amusing dichotomy. She was one classy lady!

I loved her.

Sadly, she passed away 8 years ago in August from cancer complicated by diabetes. If there was a bright side to her suffering, it was Alzheimer’s, which she had been diagnosed with many years before.

The opportunity to perform the final task, casting her remaining ashes into the lake, didn’t occur until the following summer. The lake is a wonderfully peaceful place full of heartwarming memories of our life with her. It’s also the resting place of a lot of ashes belonging to a century and a half of beloved “lakers” including furry friends.

As planned, my father-in-law, Nan’s children and the “out-law” (me) motored out to the middle of the water at her favorite time of the day, sunset, in our old Nautique ski boat. We shared our thoughts and reflections as we spread Nan’s last ashes. We thanked God that her suffering ended. We relished in the thought of a heavenly bridge game played with some of her closest friends, and we toasted an amazing woman whom we all loved.

Yet something during this boat ride and memorial didn’t ring true to me. Our words seemed to be lacking in a way, almost not emotional enough. It wasn’t what I expected but I chalked it up to being almost a year since she left us.

The following summer we were still adjusting to lake life without the family matriarch and my father-in-law was soon to be married. That same summer we decided to sell the old ski boat, which we all wished we'd kept in hindsight. 

An hour before trading in the “old girl” for a newer, faster, spiffier model, I thought to check the storage pockets and compartments of the boat because years ago, when I was young, my family almost included my high school class ring and retainer in the sale of our boat.

Reaching deep down in the pocket behind the driver's seat, I felt a small bag. Pulling it out into the sunlight, it looked really familiar! I realized what it was as soon as I peeked inside the blue velvet pouch.

It was Nan!

She didn't get completely sprinkled!

The rest of the family would've sold the boat, and Nan, without checking for personal belongings but I knew better. Something didn't jibe for me the day her ashes were disbursed.

Gathering everything I could into a trash bag except her, I walked up the pier to the house. A couple of friends were standing in the yard. 

As I passed Jay, I said “Would you please hold Nan while I take this to the trash?” 

I placed the pouch in his open hand. The look on his face was priceless. He’s incredibly squeamish. 

Chuck, our curious friend, said, “Let me see her.” as he peeked inside. He’s in the medical field. 

They've both loved her since childhood.

Possession is 9/10th of the law, or so they say. I have her. The family knows I have her. From that day on, she’s resided in my underwear drawer. That’s not against the law, is it? Is that gross?

I figured it was the perfect place because I’m in that drawer daily come summertime, or should be, and when I open it I can say “Hey!” or “You’ll never guess what Bozo thing your son did today.” Stuff like that.

And sometimes I just want to think about her.


Last winter when I changed rooms and dressers with my daughter, she found the velvet pouch containing her grandmother as she was putting her underwear in the drawer. 

"What's in here?" she asked swinging the pouch.

"It's Nano, honey." I replied. She was speechless and all but threw it to me. I took Nan to my room and replaced her in her spot, my drawer.

I had a chance to visit with her this weekend and we had a lovely chat. I filled her in on the four of us. I told her I missed her every single day.

I also realized it’s not about having her but remembering her and reminding my kids about her. Memories fade easily if you let them. 

As life's been busier, I’ve appreciated reminders. For me, all it takes is a look at my dresser and I have my friend.

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This is my favorite picture of her as she enjoys her younger days on the lake. It is way before I knew her but it's how I "saw" her. She was a vibrant, loving and incredibly funny woman. 


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49 comments:

Erica M said...

Nan seemed perfect and I'm glad you had so many good days before she got tucked away with the undies. I've read your love letter, so I know this post will be enjoying a few edits. I just wanted to leave a comment saying thanks for sharing this wonderful story.

Gina said...

All dolled up and ready to "grid it". I love Flood!

Nan was incredible. There is no other way to describe her. I miss her always. I am so happy you stopped by to read about her, Erica!

Kirsten Oliphant said...

This is really neat, Gina! Love the surprise that you found Nan, and that you kept her! I think it's great that her memory and legacy live on with you...and now here as you write about her. Well done!

Kinley Dane said...

This was so sweet :) When we went to spread my dad's ashes in an incredibly similar way, I just wasn't ready, so I deliberately kept a little stash of his ashes, and I did it again with my mom's ashes. I nevet meant to hang onto them as long as I have, but I still have them..in my underwear drawer :)

Jamie Miles said...

What an awesome picture. My friend lost her husband tragically to cancer earlier this year. He asked that his ashes stay on the mantel so he be a part of things for a while. And then when she is ready she can spread them over a specific place that he requested. I think it may sound odd to some, but whatever brings a person comfort might help with pushing past the grief and loss.

Ginny Marie said...

What a great relationship you had with your MIL! It's so amazing that on the day you threw her ashes into the lake, you weren't at peace...and then you found part of her! Wow.

Samantha Brinn Merel said...

You are so lucky to have such a wonderful mother-in-law. I just love the image of you chatting with her in your bedroom. Some relationships really are meant to last forever, death be damned, right?

IASoupMama said...

Such a great story! I am very close to my mother-in-law, too. I prefer her company to my own mother's most of the time.

I am so glad that you have (very literally) a piece of her with you always.

Anonymous said...

I love the humor in your story. It's so refreshing to hear someone that can manage to keep someone spirit alive, even when they are gone. Lovely post.

Stacie @ Snaps and Bits said...

How wonderful that you had such a close relationship with Nan. Do you ever think that she had a hand in saving your life the day you dove in? I don't know why, but that is what struck me when I was reading this beautiful tribute. Maybe the part of her in the lake was watching over you that day.

Arnebya said...

This is wonderful, Gina; it made me smile throughout. I have a better relationship with my mother-in-law than I do my own mother. And no, there's nothing wrong with Nan residing in your underwear drawer, nothing at all.

Jack said...

It is always nice to have that kind of relationship with someone. There is something special about it that extends beyond words.

Gina said...

Thanks, Kiki! Yes, I was surprised, too! Of course I kept her and I think about her all the time.

Gina said...

We have something more in common then, Kianwi (ashes and Honduras!). I have a hard time letting go but I have a good and long memory. That will sustain me!

Gina said...

I LOVE that picture. I get the whole mantel thing. It would help me still feel connected somehow and provide comfort. My dog's ashes are still on a chest in the family room. She never made it out to the middle of her beloved lake yet (we weren't ready!). Grief is a tricky thing.

Gina said...

I did! I thought the whole thing was forced and strange. It felt disconnected but it had been almost a year and lots happened in that period of time. The moving on process had started already (except for me I guess). I'm happy to have her with me.

Gina said...

I chatted with her this past weekend. Me sitting on the edge of my bed and her in my drawer. I wholeheartedly believe some relationships are meant to last forever. This one will!

Gina said...

I felt the same way back then. My mom treated me like a kid still (old habits die hard) and my MIL had a relationship built on friendship without all the childhood baggage. Plus she loved her son deeply (they were VERY close) so we were all pretty tight.

Gina said...

I couldn't write anything about her without humor. She was so fun, funny and we laughed no matter what we were doing together, even chores. It takes work to keep that spirit alive so I have reminders all over the place. My children have very fond memories of her even though sometimes were hard because of her Alzheimer's.

Gina said...

You know, Stacie. She loved this blue heron that lived in the channel behind our house. It flew out across the lake (sometimes sat on our pier) whenever we were outside and Nan would comment. After she died and I'd be outside doing something all alone, I'd turn to find the heron on the pier. I swear it was Nan checking in on me. Even when my friends visit and they see the heron, they'll say, "There goes Nan!".

I do believe she saved me. It truly would have been horrific for my family to be dealing with a quadriplegic for the rest of my long life and I think of that often. I also believe her spirit helped me through that awful patch this summer. She lived with me in my room for 6 weeks.

Gina said...

Thanks, Arnebya. Actually, my mom and MIL were good friends too. I am/was fortunate to have two outstanding women in my life. Both shaped me. I thought my undie drawer was totally appropriate, it's just when I started to write about it I wondered if it was weird. I love that you always see things the way I do!

Gina said...

I agree. Those feelings, that type of connection, don't come along very often or often enough. These words only cover a fraction of the feelings I have for her. Thanks for noticing that.

Anonymous said...

Sometimes it's better to remember them before that kind of affliction seeped in... My great uncle was the same way.

Gina said...

That's how my family feels. There are so so many fabulous memories and the rough ones don't even enter our minds even though they spanned five years at the end. My kids were old enough to realize her behavior was not that of the Nano the knew and loved. Thanks for

Love and Lunchmeat said...

Now, you can actually turn the ashes into diamonds, if you don't find it too macabre. Well, your daughter wouldn't run away screaming at least.

Steph said...

Great story, Gina. I don't find it at all gross or macabre to keep her ashes in your underwear drawer or anywhere else. Had my mother been cremated instead of buried I'd love to have a part of her with me. But it's the relationship you speak of that is so very touching. The people in your life are lucky to have you - someone so aware of the importance of connection now, while they are alive. Wonderful post.

Gina said...

I would lve that, turning them not diamond. Maybe for my ears! And she's nit squeamish! I think she was caught so off guard.

Gina said...

We were extremely close. Thanks for saying that, Stephanie. Life goes fast, things could happen. Right now is all we have; all we are guaranteed.

Anonymous said...

I love that you found her and that you followed your intuition! How wonderful to have that kind of relationship.

Azara said...

I completely get that feeling of wanting to keep her with you. I would (and have) done the same.

I loved your tone here too - reverent but light-hearted and funny too. Very nice!

Cindy ~ The Reedster Speaks said...

That photo is AMAZING.

Gina said...

It was meant for me to find. I am totally convinced of that.

Gina said...

That's how I felt about her. It's how she was too. Classy, classy. But super fun! She was a great role model for me as I became a new wife and then mother.

I'm glad you're not creeped out by it and that you would (and have) do it too.

Gina said...

I LOVE IT. It is her...to me.

Stacie @ Snaps and Bits said...

Amazing. It gives me the chills (in a good way)!

christie tate said...

Omg, that photo and the ashes. I never dreamed you were going to find her like that. Crazy. and I am dying to know what books you both liked. I am trying to forge great ground with my MIL. You did a great job.

Dilovely said...

This is a great story. It makes me happy even though it revolves around death (odd?). And ashes = not gross at all. People are just touchy about these things in this part of the world. I have a pendant I wear with a tiny chamber inside it that contains a bit of my son's ashes (google "cremation jewelry", if you're interested), and I love having him with me... but I don't often tell people that because I'm afraid they'll be freaked out. But death is just a part of life, and ashes are very clean and sanitary - there's nothing gross about it. Underwear drawer is as good a place as any! I'm sure Nan would get a kick out of it.

lumdog2012 said...

Lovely story. And written with much love. Nicely done.

Kathleen said...

I loved this post, Gina. Just loved it. You really captured her essence (and I don't mean in those ashes you so lovingly stashed). The picture at the end is priceless. I wish I could have met her.

P.S. I love my MIL too. You and I are very lucky!

Gina said...

That I kept her in my underwear drawer; she would laugh until she peed her pants. She'd definitely appreciate it! I didn't think it was creepy at all...the ashes in jewelry. I'm so sorry that they are your son's ashes, though. I will check into that because it would be a wonderful gesture if and when I decide to share her. May not.

Gina said...

Thanks, lumdog. Finally we're off the baby making topic! Phew! It was written in the spirit of deep love.

Gina said...

You would have liked her (everyone did) and she would have made you laugh, Kathleen. She was wonderfully social, kind to everyone and fun! I miss her always. That picture (I took a picture of the picture with my phone) is on my dresser.

You and I are extremely lucky and that makes me very happy for you. Deep connections and love for someone don't come around everyday, sometimes hardly at all or never.

Gina said...

That photo means the world to me. I was meant to find them. We liked different books. She liked biographies; I liked just about everything else. We'd tell each other about what we each were reading and we could easily spend hours quietly reading when my kids slept. You need to find common ground outside of their son or grandkids. Something for the two of you. Thanks so much.

Larks said...

What a sweet post! Funny and touching. And what a great picture!

Michelle Longo said...

What a lovely tribute to someone you clearly loved so much!

Gina said...

Thanks, Larks!

Gina said...

Thank you, Michelle. I really, really thought the world of her. Still do! Her son has many of her wonderful qualities.

Unknown said...

Gina, This was such an amazing post! Poignant and moving to the point of tears. I just adored it -- and the picture! Oh wow! Nan looks so cool and classy.

Gina said...

Angela! Thank you so much. I adored her. I still do! She was really, really, really cool.