Not to be unduly morbid, but there’s something weird about sitting down at the dining table in your deceased parents’ house and going “Huh. What’s in that bag over th… oh, it’s Dad’s cremains.”
Mom’s are in a cabinet a few feet away. At some point both sets of ashes are going to be mixed together and scattered under the big oak tree at the house in Virginia I grew up in. Apparently the current owners are okay with some strangers showing up and scattering their parents’ ashes around; I think I’d find it odd if former residents of my house in Vermont made the same request.
At least my parents made a semi-reasonable request instead of asking to be scattered off the top of the Empire State Building; I hear building security gets pretty cranky when people try that.
Everybody knows that the dice are loaded Everybody rolls with their fingers crossed Everybody knows that the war is over Everybody knows that the good guys lost Everybody knows that the fight was fixed The poor stay poor, and the rich get rich That’s how it goes.
— Leonard Cohen
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