A reader writes:
Andrew, I know the desolation you feel regarding Dusty’s ashes. My husband and I have three little bags sitting on our étagère. We’ve never been able to part with them, and over time additional bags will be added. Ultimately we decided that the when last of us leaves this Earth, our ashes will be combined (husband + wife + pets) and scattered together as a family unit. Maybe it sounds crazy, but for us it’s comforting to know we’ll be going to our great beyond together.
If you and your husband can’t deal with Dusty’s ashes today, then she still comes home with you. And there’s no shame in that.
Another:
I didn’t know this was a thing until I read the email of the day. My beloved Jack Russell’s ashes sit on a shelf in my living room despite my promise and desire to free him again into the backyard he so loved, his territory. My father’s ashes sit in a beautifully hand carved box in my mother’s kitchen. I feel like I’m being smothered every time I look at it. I desperately want to put him back into the cycle of life on this planet as he would want, but I don’t want to ask my mother. Most of all I don’t want to face what is in that box—my dear dad, and one day me, and one day everyone I love. Everyone, period. Perhaps we should have a day when all Dish-heads let go of those we are holding onto?
Another:
You know, some time ago I lost my greyhound after more than ten years. After he was cremated I took some of his ashes and left them at all his favorite spots on the beach and in the village. I was going to carry a little of his ashes in a little box but decided to take a tiny pinch and … swallow it. I guess I never told anybody because they would think it’s weird, but it helped me a lot.
More readers share their remembrances:
When my husband had a massive stroke four years ago, my only comfort was my black lab-mix, Max. But three weeks later, Max died of a heart attack. I was never so lonely. When his cremains were given to me, I broke down in tears all over again. In the lonely 4-1/2 months that my husband was in the hospital, then the convalescent hospital, then finally the rehab hospital before coming home for good, Max’s Ashes kept me company on a small side table in the family room.
I never buried him, as I had promised myself I would do once my husband came home. I couldn’t bear it, because I realized that even in death Max had saved me from a worse loneliness in a cold dark empty house during my husband’s convalescence. Now, with two dogs in the house, both rescues and both spoiled and loved, I have no shame in telling you that Max’s Ashes remain in a tasteful cedar box in a place of honor in the living room. (And I am crying as write this …)
Another:
I’ve been following this thread with such empathy. I couldn’t scatter the ashes of two of my most beloved – I still have them with me in beautiful, handmade, clay jars that I picked up in my travels. A few years ago, a dear friend picked up a jar and turned it upside down to see where it was from, only to scatter bits of “Tequila” on top of the bureau I had inherited from my grandmother. She was so puzzled. I had to make light of it. How was she to know that this jar held all I had left of an itty bitty kitten I had loved so dearly, one that I scooped up out of a cardboard box in the main office of a school in Rochester and flew home to Boston in an abandoned lunchbox from the lost and found?
I’m currently in the process of selling my home. Realtors tell you to put away the of pictures of yourself and your family so other people can envision themselves living in “your space.” I did that. And then I realized just how many pictures I still have displayed of my beloved creatures – Fuzzy Guy, Tequila, Harley, Cosmo, Frito, Lucy … they’re all over my house, and I still find such comfort in having them near me, even though some of them are no longer physically with me.
Take your time, Andrew. Some things don’t need to be rushed.
Update from a reader:
You got to me again today, Andrew. I wrote you on August 5th telling you of losing my Dusty the same day you lost yours. His ashes sit on a shelf in my living room and I honestly don’t know what I’ll do with them. I just know for now, I need them. I think some of the reluctance to distribute them in the places he loved will just bring to the fore front that he is gone. I’m just not ready for that closure yet. Maybe I’ll never be. No rush.
Another:
Our friend said she had “our Buffy” cremated and kept her ashes in the trunk of the car because “she loved going for rides in the car and that way she is always happy”!
Another:
Thank you for writing so eloquently about death. I wanted to tell you what someone told me and which I took very much to heart two years ago: it’s okay to postpone decisions right now.
My baby daughter’s ashes are still in a tiny urn on my dresser. I don’t know if they will ever go much further away from me than that. No one has ever said anything critical to my face, but if they did, I would say, “Well, at least I’ve stopped carrying her around in my purse”. Giving myself permission to be a crazy grieving mother and to take my time letting go really did save my life. Having her nearby when I sleep continues to comfort me today.
You helped Dusty on her own timeline when she needed it, even when you weren’t ready. Now it’s okay to be on your own timeline for a bit. She’ll wait for you.
The Dish 