“Did your mom come?”
“Yes! I’ve got her right here!” I announce while pulling a tiny urn out of my purse and holding it up for all to see. ALL. Even those at nearby tables. Maybe the announcement was a little too announced.
When my mom died, nine months ago, the funeral director asked if anyone wanted a “portion.” I blurted out “Yes!” though I wasn’t quite sure what that meant. Grief is an unreliable shopping companion and, in those early hours, I added all sorts of things to our funeral home cart. Thus, days later, I was handed a tiny urn that housed a sprinkling of my mother’s ashes.
Evidently, portions are not abnormal, but the way that my tiny urn has become a faithful companion may be. That tiny urn has gone with me to the mall, the movies, and, yes, out for margaritas with the girls, who have come to expect its presence.
It started when I brought the tiny urn to the opening of our local TJ Maxx. Mom loved TJ Maxx. In a different timeline, she’d have walked into that shiny store with me, rather than tucked in my purse. As we left the store, I told my friend that I’d brought Mom along. Her face registered multiple reactions before settling on a comforting smile with even more comforting words: “It’s okay. Everyone grieves in their own way.”
Just after my mom died, I could not fathom giving anything of hers away, including her ashes, apparently. Adult diapers? I’ll take them–they may be useful someday! Six different canes, a rollator, and a walker? Throw it all in my trunk. Orthopedic sandals in four different colors? Maybe they’ll fit me one day!
Cremains? I’ve got the perfect container!
I am not alone in this bizarre lifestage. Many of my friends are also saying “goodbye” to their parents and, in a cruel twist of fate, we are doing this at the same time our children are leaving our nests. It’s a lot of loss to navigate all at once. I sometimes feel like I am one breakdown away from packing up my griefcase, disconnecting all devices, and fleeing to a deserted island, no forwarding address.
As that’s not possible, I find other ways to cope, including carrying around that tiny urn. I’m not sure why it helps, but it does. Perhaps I’m tricking myself into thinking my mom is still right here, though no longer a phone call away. Perhaps it’s a really weird security blanket. Perhaps I’ve finally lost what was left of my cookies.
Whatever the reason, it works. After all, everyone grieves in their own way. | 
