*This is part 1 of a 2 part series…
My husband died unexpectedly in a freak accident almost two years ago. He fell at home and hit his head, was fine for a few days, and then he up and died on me. Months before he died, we had attended the funeral of a family member and afterward, he and I discussed our respective plans for our eventual demise. We made our wills and decided where and how we wanted our funerals to go, not having any idea that he would soon be dead. Gregory had decided that he did not want to be buried in a coffin, but wanted to be cremated, as most of my relatives have been or planned to be.
He despised the whole idea of a wake, and the thought of being laid out on display in a gaudy silk-lined box with people wailing over him made his stomach turn. Both of us hated going to funerals, and we would exchange pokes and lock eyes when inevitably someone hovering around the casket would say that the deceased looked “so peaceful” followed by the always popular “they look like they’re asleep”. He told me that he always felt like screaming “OF COURSE THEY LOOK PEACEFUL YOU DUMBASS, THEY’RE DEAD!!”
Dreading the thought of someone saying something so ridiculous over his body, his decision was firm. He wanted to be cremated and have a memorial service followed by a party where everyone who loved him could laugh over the good times and remember our lives with him. He then wanted me to spread his ashes at several places he loved, and to always have some of him with me wherever I went.
So that’s what I did.
The morning of the cremation, I sat with Gregory’s body until it was time. I made sure he was dressed in his favorite jeans and a white shirt, because he always told me he didn’t want to end up in the afterlife butt naked and made me promise I would make sure he had clothes on. In the pocket of his shirt I placed pictures of us and the kids along with my last love letter to him.
The funeral director thought it was a bit strange to cremate someone with clothes on, but since I was the one paying the bill, he grudgingly complied. Especially after I grabbed the gurney and threatened to wheel my husband’s corpse right out into the parking lot and towards the funeral home down the road.
I do believe I would have. I may have been a bit stressed at the time. The next day we had a graveside service where about 20% of his ashes were buried in a little tiny wooden box I let his daughter pick out. I hated that box from the moment I saw it, it looked like one of those things you put over a box of kleenex.
And then his mother glued quite possibly the ugliest, cheapest looking cross I have ever seen in my life to the top of it.
Gregory would have been infuriated over it and I could just hear his voice in my head telling me so, but I kept my mouth shut because I was trying to be the good wife and besides, I still had most of him. At the funeral home I had offered his kids and mother some of his ashes but they refused, as they weren’t too enthused about the whole cremation thing to begin with and tried to talk me out of it. But once again, since I seemed to be the only one in the room with a checkbook, Gregory got what he wanted.
Almost.
He was buried next to his father in a small country cemetery in the middle of Nowhere, Alabama. His mother and others in his family insisted on it so they’d have “somewhere to go see him”, and even though I knew he didn’t want that, I was too devastated and tired to argue. Gregory’s father was an abusive jerk who he despised and he had told me on several occasions that he didn’t want to spend eternity anywhere near him. (Turns out he was only there for a few months, but that’s in part two).
On the way home from the funeral, I looked over at the seat next to me where what was left of Gregory’s earthly remains sat in a black plastic box about half the size of a shoebox. I felt like I had the mysterious black box from an airplane crash next to me. I had ordered a nice urn but according to the funeral director, it wasn’t in yet. I figured he was hiding it from me in case I asked him to put some pants on it or something.
As I drove, I kept looking over at the box and thinking “That’s my husband in there. Well, most of him anyway.” I may have even talked to it a few times, as if he was really in there, listening to me babble. And I hadn’t even gotten into the really good drugs my doctor had given me at that point. Eventually my nosy ass got the better of me and I had to pull over and open the box. Have you ever seen cremains? They look like quikrete. Which I found ironic because Gregory loved to do any project involving concrete.
Nothing tickled him more than being able to mix up a batch and build something. So there I sat in the parking lot of some gas station, looking at what once was my husband, reduced to a pile of greyish white ashes and pebbles in what can best be described as a fancy zip-lock bag. I shook it a few times and watched a few wisps of white float up into the air. And then, before I could help myself, I stuck my fingers in the bag and touched them.
They sure felt like quikrete. Then I began to wonder, what if that’s really what it was? What if the funeral home had pulled a scam on me and given me a box of concrete mix instead of my husband, who was probably being used in some awful experiment at a necrophelia convention? Far fetched I know, but one’s mind tends to wander to some far-out places when you are running on grief fueled adrenaline. So then I smelled them. Didn’t smell like Gregory. And then? Then I licked my fingers and tasted them. Yes, I did. Sure didn’t taste like chicken. Or Gregory. Then I came to my damn senses and closed the box back up and went into the quick stop, washed my hands and then bought the biggest beer I could find to wash down what was left of him on my tongue.
Coming up in Part 2 : tattoos, shovels and acting like ninjas………
About Kim Trimble
OH my GOSH!! You are a great writer! I am glued to her the part 2! We went through something similar in threatening to roll a body down the street if the funeral director wouldn’t agree to our terms.
Twitter Name: mrsbigtank
I don’t know how you have managed to inject humour in to such a difficult story but you have. I’m glad you were able to follow your husband’s wishes.
Hugs.
Twitter Name: penbleth
Seriously, I want to keep reading. And thank goodness for your sense of humour, otherwise I’d be crying like a baby here at work.
I have never been so glued to the screen over a cremation story. I had my dad cremated in his PhD gown a few years back. Hope you are doing better {{{hugs}}} and can’t wait for part 2.
Twitter Name: mommybytes
exactly what loukia said. xoxo
Twitter Name: Liza_Rae
I am sad for you – and having to deal with such a tragedy, but I can relate. If my husband reads this story, he’ll look at me as though I wrote it from the future. I would do the same thing – look in the box, sniff, see if I can find anything recognizable. Oh yes, all of it. And if he questioned it – I’d tell him that just as in life, in death anything of his he hands me is fair game for the perusing. :)
Twitter Name: SeekingOrion
What an awful thing for you to go through, yet i found myself laughing at your humour!! Wow.
I’ve seen ashes from cremation too and they are definitely an enigma…and very much like concrete or ceramic powder mix. But unlike you, I’m not brave enough to touch or taste it. It’s hard to adjust our minds to thinking that ashes are all that’s left of a person….
Thank you for sharing!
Twitter Name: lucynamackay
I really love the brutal honesty. I think most people would be curious in that situation. *HUGS*
Twitter Name: lovinstilettos
I could so see myself peeking in the box too. And probably thinking the exact same thing you did.
Twitter Name: msmegan
I am really sorry for your loss. I can’t imagine. :(
Your story reminded me of my aunt. When her husband died she had him cremated, and she didn’t really know what to do with his ashes, so she kept them in the trunk of her car for like two years. It got to be kind of a joke – poor uncle Jim, spending eternity in the back of a Chevy Cavalier.
Twitter Name: prettybabes
I would have done the same things you did, right down to the tasting. Also, you found humor in death. I think I love you. :)
Twitter Name: chickybaby
I would have done the exact same thing, minus the tasting part.
Twitter Name: Bellaventa
Tasted it. LOVE.
And GUFFAW over the pants on the urn.
Twitter Name: thedgoddess
that’s my girl.
Twitter Name: mybottlesup
Funny, Mr. K and I were talking about his mystery illness and some how the snorting of ashes came up. Never thought about tasting them. Will run that by him to see if that might be acceptable -
Your writing sucked me in, I ache for you but I was also nodding and smiling. Can’t wait to read more.
You know what I was shocked by? How freakin’ heavy the box was! I don’t know what I expected, but it was so much heavier than I expected that I almost dropped it in the funeral home. And then I may have begun to laugh like a maniac at the thought of dropping my husband’s ashes all over the floor. I may have.
Twitter Name: prCarrS
My husband died unexpectedly in a car accident three years ago. He also wanted to be cremated and it didn’t go over too well with his family. They took the most of his remains to his home state and buried them there somewhere. I have two small urns of cremains but have never looked in them.
I am anxious to read part 2.
Twitter Name: SiobhanWolf
First of all, I am so very sorry that you lost your husband so unexpectedly. It’s a devastating loss, and I had no idea.
Now. Onto the part where I started reading this, thinking I would need a box of tissues because I would be in tears. It’s lucky I had them close by because I honest to god just spat yogurt all over my laptop screen. I think some of it is coming out of my nose. This is by far the best thing I have read in, well, ever. I can’t wait for part two!
(I thought EVERYONE was cremated in clothes? We bought an outfit especially for Ariana to be cremated in…nobody wants to be nekkid on the other side!)
Twitter Name: NearlyNQ
Hon – I’m so very very sorry for your loss. I’ve read your blog since last year( and been a lurker)…so good to see you’re moving on is all I can say. That’s what he’d want cos after all – you loved each other – and he’d tell ya – go forth Kim! He sounds like the most awesomest guy! But he’s up there waiting on you.
Gregory was one lucky dude to have you in his life. And we’re lucky to be able to look into the window of your grief. thanks for sharing, and hugs. lots of hugs.
Twitter Name: returntoworkmom
Thanks everyone so much for all of the comments and kind words !
Can’t wait for you to read part two !
Twitter Name: kimt205
So raw and honest. I weep for you and yet, somehow, you have made me hopeful.
Cyber hugs to you and yours. I admire your tenacity and willingness to laugh at even the most traumatic of circumstances.
What a beautiful and very real post. Thank you so much for sharing this with us. I’ll be watching for part 2.
As one widow to another, I totally cracked up reading this. TJ’s family was a pain and we have been estranged since his death (probably a good thing). I too was fascinated with his ashes, although, I didn’t taste them (ewwww). I have spread some and still have some in that stupid plastic box they came in. Guess I should buy an urn.
Twitter Name: Sandy_Webb
what a beautifully written piece.
WOW. you licked your fingers? That’s what I love about real stories. That shit is too weird and sad and heartbreaking to make up.
Twitter Name: ecnewlin