This morning I woke up sad. It wasn’t a weeping type of sad, rather a lost kind of sad. I deviated from my normal routine and sat on the bed in front of my husband’s urn and spoke to him. All I really wanted today was a sign, some little thing that would let me know he’s still around. I miss him terribly, I told him so and asked him to give me a sign that he’s still around. The day has almost passed and there has been no overt sign. There is nothing evident that could even come near a sign. No chimes ringing in the wind, no dimes on the floor, no hummingbirds at the bird feeder, nothing out of the ordinary. It has just been one more day in the long run of days since Kevin’s death the end of March.
On the 28th of this month he would have turned 62. I will have all the children home to honour what should have been. Initially I had planned on interring his ashes on his birthday; but I am just not ready. I recall after my father died how my mother had kept his ashes with her, moving them around the house, putting his eyeglasses in front of his urn so he could watch television with her. It seemed incredibly unbalanced to me at the time, and still does seem a little odd, but I think I understand it a bit better now. I don’t move Kevin’s ashes around the house, but I will stop in front of his urn and touch it. I will talk to it, to him, when I feel sad. Much like you would see in a cemetery – people visit graves to find comfort, to try to connect with the people they love; I view Kev’s urn as a conduit to some other dimension or existence. His new place of being.
I continue to read the book, “Broken Open”, by Elizabeth Lesser. It is slow going, not because the book is complicated, because it’s not – it’s slow because the subject is a demanding one for me. The book is showing signs of being a comforting and therefore valuable read for me. Early in the book, Ms Lesser quotes from biochemist and cell biologist, Rupert Sheldrake. It was such a thought-provoking quote that I have already shared it with a few of my friends, and share it here:
“If we compare the dead body of a person or animal or plant with the living state that preceded it, we note that the amount of matter in the dead body is the same as in the living body. The form of the body is also the same, and so are the chemicals in it, at least immediately after death. But something has changed. The most obvious conclusion is that something has left the body, and since there’s no change in weight, that which has left is essentially immaterial. That immaterial something can be called the soul.” (Broken Open, pg. 3)
It’s a logical summary to which some might reply, ‘so what, what does that prove?’ But think about it – really think about it. When is the same, not the same? One answer is – in death. Consider, if the soul is the reason a being lives, is the soul actually the being? These are the types of questions that have me sitting in front of Kevin’s urn – asking for a sign, any sign.