So, we should make it to Baltimore a few hours and a few grey hairs later.
Another David is dead story --
Going through security, my bag was searched and our bag of vitamins and drugs were removed and the doubled bagged baggie of David's ashes were removed. The woman who was holding the ashes asked what was in the bag and I said ashes. She looked again at the bag and asked, what do you mean ashes? My husband's ashes, I answered. And then she dropped the baggie and looked at me with a mighty queer expression.
This is the first time that I opened the white box with a heavy plastic bag of David's ashes. There are more than I thought there would be and the ashes are heavier than I thought. I've cleaned up at least that many ashes from the fireplace and I don't think those were as heavy, but I've never picked up a smallish full bag.
So, I spooned some ashes out, doubled bagged, and put it in my backpack. I will put these ashes in Lisa's Labyrinth if Lisa approves. Although I love the labyrinth much more than David did, it is a holy place for me and I would like to think that a bit of David is in the holy place on the land that belongs to Lisa and Nick. A place that we've had so many wonderful, warm, joyous times.
Another thing about the ashes box. A few weeks ago -- and I don't think I've told this story, but I might have -- I noticed that the white box had black letters on 5 of the six sides. At first I wondered whether the box came with this writing. Then, I realized that it was Julia's writing. She has been doing little things like that lately. She goes somewhere in the house, is quiet and busy, and then I discover that she has taken all the books out of a book shelf, lined up all the dolls in our Marouska doll, or written on the box that houses David's ashes. She readily told me about the writing and asked what was in the box. I told her and she worried that we had burned Daddy before he was dead. And that burning was why he was dead. What ensued was a good conversation of what happens after someone dies. What happens with their body. Julia accepted it all but I think she will be asking more questions at some point.
And that is fine.
Last night, as I was walking the dog, the idea that I would never see David again went deeper. Words are hard to explain this, but I felt it sink closer to my core and I felt the bewilderment of knowing the truth. How can it be that I will never see him again? Rationally, I know what goes on, but on another level, sometimes I feel like I am