Dearest Rachel –
It’s probably that much worse to be having to admit this to you on an anniversary date – in this case, the fifty-first month since your departure – but this is the way things happen (to say nothing of the timing of my finding out). Considering where it happened, it could at least be considered a no “harm, no foul” situation as it did happen – there are so many places where, had this happened, I’d have lost that part of you forever – but just the fact that it happened at all is more than sufficiently embarrassing in its own right.
At this point, you might be wondering what it is, exactly, that I’m talking about. What’s left behind “of you” for me to “lose” at this point? Then again, you were always a clever girl; you’d probably be able to connect the dots in short order.
On the other hand, you might actually guess that I’d lost the ring with the diamond created from your ashes. Which, while outlandish to some observers, isn’t without precedent for me, I hate to have to admit. The “wedding band” I still keep in a safe place in the house (there’s no point in wearing it, as I’m no longer married to you, due to your departure) isn’t the one you slid onto my finger some thirty-two and a half years ago. I don’t know where it happened (and if I did, it wouldn’t have happened in the first place), but I lost my original band a number of years ago; you might actually remember, now that I’ve mentioned it. And, in fairness, the fact that I remove my ring when I’m about to wet my hands (or go to bed) means that there’s a non-zero chance of such a thing happening again, to be honest. So I wouldn’t blame you for coming to such a conclusion.
But no, thankfully (considering the hassle and expense that went into crafting that); that, I still have on my right hand even as I’m typing this to you. Then again, in terms of sheer quantity, I misplaced a lot more of you than is incorporated in that stone.
You see, I’d brought the shaker with the ashes I sent to the diamond lab that they didn’t need to use (and therefore sent back to me) with me when we went down to Macomb to help Ellen get her mom’s stuff moved up here to live with her. When I went out to pick up breakfast for the gang on Sunday morning, I made a detour to sprinkle a few ashes in your old front yard, as Twofeathers has put up a fence around the back yard (not so much to keep people out as to keep her dogs in, but it’s still inaccessible to someone just coming by from the street). This isn’t news to you at this point, of course; I told you about it a day or two after it all happened.
It isn’t even news that I got there by driving someone else’s car; at the time, I couldn’t help but marvel at the fact that someone was so averse to driving as to let me take the keys and wheel rather than drive herself, and so I commented upon that as well. But this is where things started to go a little sideways… because, between the late arrival back here in the Chicago suburbs, combined with the time spent unloading both at Ellen’s place and her sisters (Jeanette and her husband called dibs on the larger mattress and box spring, which was an experience in itself trying to get upstairs at their place that I admittedly didn’t go into detail about, as it really couldn’t be done justice without a few photos, and since Daniel and I were the ones carrying them up their outer staircase, no one was taking pictures of the comical affair. To be sure, it was also pretty darn dark by then, so there was that, too), I simply forgot about having left the vial in the center console of Erin’s car that night.
It completely slipped my mind until yesterday when, while walking with Lars through Harms Woods, I felt my phone go off. Which isn’t a big deal for me, but I always have to check and see what it’s all about – more for calls than texts, as I would rather stop the vibration as soon as possible, as it’s somewhat uncomfortable to let it keep going like that, but even texts get my attention. It was Erin, letting me know what I’d left behind in her car.
Oops.
I mean, this could have been so much worse. I’ve been travelling with this shaker for some time, now; it could have been inadvertently left behind in any corner of the world. At least in this case, it will be coming back, since Erin has no wish to keep it in her car.
Granted, she probably expects that I want it back for the trip to the island; ironically, nothing could be further from the truth. Yes, we’re going there to scatter the bulk of your ashes, but that would basically be to empty out your urn, which is still largely full. The shaker, like I said, was from the diamond project, and I intend to keep it with me for now. There are so many places I still expect to go and see in my life, honey, and this is a way to both bring you with and leave a little bit of you behind wherever I go. At the same time, I don’t expect to have scattered every last grain of ash before I have to come join you, so the last of them can be buried with me; while I still have to get a stone prepared, I fully intend to have you listed on my marker, indicating that (a small portion of) you and I are reunited there.
But in order to do all that, I do still need to get the shaker back from her, which still needs to be arranged – although, considering that she seems to have agreed to meet us in Ohio at some point, it should be fairly doable. Or maybe we can make an arrangement to meet about it prior to that. It’s not like you’re going anywhere, after all.
And as long as you aren’t, I hope you can still keep an eye on us, and wish us luck, honey. No matter how you look at it, we’re still going to need it.
Letters to Rachel 