When we put Nana’s ashes in the memorial bench, I had one thought lingering in the back of my mind the entire time: soon enough, we’ll be doing this for Papa as well.
So today brought a certain closure to it all. My parents are in their final resting place. Their urns are touching, together again.
During the short service, led by Nana’s and Papa’s pastor, there was talk of the hope we have in Jesus, the hope of eternal life together with God. I sat staring at Papa’s urn, hoping the topic wouldn’t come up in the after-service chat. I always feel awkward in those moments because I play along, agree with whoever is talking, and even say things that I don’t even mean or believe. Our neighbor, for example, was talking to me the other day about Papa’s passing.
“Well, he’s with Omi now, and they’re probably still hugging,” she said.
“No,” I laughed, “she probably isn’t done fussing at him yet.”
I don’t believe that, but I felt it was something that would give our neighbor a smile, and having lost her husband only this spring, I thought laughs are probably all too uncommon in her life these days.
In the evening, some family Uno, three-hand cribbage, and of course, our family favorite, badminton.
