Jack of Harts

The funeral is over and mom’s ashes are in the ground near family. And thanks to my uncle, I now where a necklace with some of her ashes in it. Some of her ashes are sprinkled where she asked, and some of her ashes are back in her house. Here they are atop her mom’s china hutch, next to her mom’s grandfather clock, in a beautiful ceramic container obtained at Hobby Lobby. Across from her is Simba in his less beautiful metal container. Surrounding numerous other people and things she loved and collected over the years. Yes, those are beanie babies below her. She has her spaces, and she will be remembered in them.

It is amazing the difference a day makes. I finally managed to get my long awaited meeting with a Wells Fargo banker, and it went smoothly. I gave him my mom’s death certificate, we talked about options, he gave me his card, and told me to call him any time I needed help. We’ve finally a game plan for what we are going to do with mom’s accounts there, and we are moving forward. It is amazing how much a little half-hour meeting can help to improve matters.

We went to Phelps Mill after the funeral. It’s an old mill and dam where the family grew up swimming on weekends, and we tend to congregate there after doing anything at the old church. Funerals. Marriages. We’ve done family reunions and softball games there. Going there is just another family tradition. A marriage ceremony was ending as we arrived, and we took some quick photos as a storm rolled in. We got back to our cars just ahead of the downpour, and went off to eat with family in a nearby town. Traditions like this are important. They help us navigate loss and gain. They remind us that we are part of something greater than just us. A long line of our ancestors has come through all of this before, and our descendents will do the same in the future. It reminds us that there is life after death.