Strange, but Good, Too
I do yardwork for a few older women around town. There's this one lady who I just started working for. I'll call her "Anna." I've only been over to Anna's house a few times, to clean leaves out of her garden and to trim some fern bushes. Ha, I'm not going to try and make this story all aesthetic, because I'm kind of tipsy. Anyways, so I've done work for her a few times.
I go to check my voice mail the other day and I get message from Anna. She says, "Hi Ben, this is Anna, 549-5483. I know you told me that you'd be busy until around the middle of May and would be unable to work, but I have this little job that I need to have done. Well, I hate to call it a job."
The first time I went over to Anna's house somehow the topic of her husband came up. Ha, I know what you guys are thinking, and you sick. She told me that her husband was a chemistry professor, that he taught somewhere out east. I figured he made trips back and forth between the school he taught at, and was not home most of the time. All the times I'd been over at Anna's house for work I never met the guy.
Back to Anna's voice mail. "Well, I hate to call it a job," she says. "I need someone to dispose of my husband's ashes. I'm thinking sometime around the third weekend in April. My daughter is flying in from France, and there's this particular spot down on the bank behind my house."
Anna's house is situated above the waters of Puget Sound. She has a gorgeous view out over the water from her backyard. I stare out at it whenever I work over there.
Anna has made it into her later years. You wouldn't think it upon first meeting her, but she's definitely a lot older than you'd think. Her current state of health prevents her from making it down the hill to the "particular spot" where she wants her husband's ashes spread. Apparently her daughter's health is also failing, and she is not capable of getting to the spot, either.
"My daughter is flying in from France, and there's this particular spot down on the bank behind my house," Anna explains, "and I'd like you, of all people, to go down there and spread my husband's ashes. I'll pay you of course. I don't think it will take you more than twenty minutes. We'll also have to take into consideration the time it takes you to get out here. I'll pay you, " (it sounds like Anna is choking up a little at this point) "one hundred dollars. Please give me a call back if you're interested. Actually, give me a call back even if you are not interested."
I've been somewhat surprised at the reactions that I have recieved from the small numer of friends that I have told about this. All they think is that it is weird. I think of it as an honor. Anna has asked me to be the one to fulfill her husbands final wishes in her place, as she is unable to do so herself. I don't know why she has asked me to do it. She and her daughter, who I have never met, are asking me to be the last person in the world to place his hands on a husband, on a father, because they are unable to do so.
I called Anna back and told her that I would be honored to do this for her, but could not even think about allowing her to pay me for it. She disagreeed, and insisted. I told her that we could argue about it later, as the date approaches. This predicament is unimportant.
I just can't get past the fact that she has asked me to do this for her. I don't see is as creepy, or weird, or however else any of my friends have thought of it. I can't get past the fact that she is entrusting her husband's ashes to me. I wonder what it is going to be like. I picture myself, carefully making my way down the steep, densely vegetated hill behind her house as Anna and her daughter wait together at the top of the hill. Do I turn around and yell, "Here?" and then when listen as they yell, "a little to the left, no, to the right, down a little, yeah, right there."
I've run my hands through my own father's ashes. They kind of stick to your hand, even sparkle a little. I'd expect her husband's ashes will be much the same. Some of the sparkling dust might stick to my hands, or my face as I walk back up to the top of the hill. Anna and her daughter would be crying a little, but they'll feel good knowing that he has been put to rest in such a beautiful place.
I don't know how it will really turn out. Probably far from how I've imagined it. Maybe it will turn out as weird. Tough to say, but either way, I'll still think of it as the greatest honor I've ever received.
I go to check my voice mail the other day and I get message from Anna. She says, "Hi Ben, this is Anna, 549-5483. I know you told me that you'd be busy until around the middle of May and would be unable to work, but I have this little job that I need to have done. Well, I hate to call it a job."
The first time I went over to Anna's house somehow the topic of her husband came up. Ha, I know what you guys are thinking, and you sick. She told me that her husband was a chemistry professor, that he taught somewhere out east. I figured he made trips back and forth between the school he taught at, and was not home most of the time. All the times I'd been over at Anna's house for work I never met the guy.
Back to Anna's voice mail. "Well, I hate to call it a job," she says. "I need someone to dispose of my husband's ashes. I'm thinking sometime around the third weekend in April. My daughter is flying in from France, and there's this particular spot down on the bank behind my house."
Anna's house is situated above the waters of Puget Sound. She has a gorgeous view out over the water from her backyard. I stare out at it whenever I work over there.
Anna has made it into her later years. You wouldn't think it upon first meeting her, but she's definitely a lot older than you'd think. Her current state of health prevents her from making it down the hill to the "particular spot" where she wants her husband's ashes spread. Apparently her daughter's health is also failing, and she is not capable of getting to the spot, either.
"My daughter is flying in from France, and there's this particular spot down on the bank behind my house," Anna explains, "and I'd like you, of all people, to go down there and spread my husband's ashes. I'll pay you of course. I don't think it will take you more than twenty minutes. We'll also have to take into consideration the time it takes you to get out here. I'll pay you, " (it sounds like Anna is choking up a little at this point) "one hundred dollars. Please give me a call back if you're interested. Actually, give me a call back even if you are not interested."
I've been somewhat surprised at the reactions that I have recieved from the small numer of friends that I have told about this. All they think is that it is weird. I think of it as an honor. Anna has asked me to be the one to fulfill her husbands final wishes in her place, as she is unable to do so herself. I don't know why she has asked me to do it. She and her daughter, who I have never met, are asking me to be the last person in the world to place his hands on a husband, on a father, because they are unable to do so.
I called Anna back and told her that I would be honored to do this for her, but could not even think about allowing her to pay me for it. She disagreeed, and insisted. I told her that we could argue about it later, as the date approaches. This predicament is unimportant.
I just can't get past the fact that she has asked me to do this for her. I don't see is as creepy, or weird, or however else any of my friends have thought of it. I can't get past the fact that she is entrusting her husband's ashes to me. I wonder what it is going to be like. I picture myself, carefully making my way down the steep, densely vegetated hill behind her house as Anna and her daughter wait together at the top of the hill. Do I turn around and yell, "Here?" and then when listen as they yell, "a little to the left, no, to the right, down a little, yeah, right there."
I've run my hands through my own father's ashes. They kind of stick to your hand, even sparkle a little. I'd expect her husband's ashes will be much the same. Some of the sparkling dust might stick to my hands, or my face as I walk back up to the top of the hill. Anna and her daughter would be crying a little, but they'll feel good knowing that he has been put to rest in such a beautiful place.
I don't know how it will really turn out. Probably far from how I've imagined it. Maybe it will turn out as weird. Tough to say, but either way, I'll still think of it as the greatest honor I've ever received.
posted by Ben U'Ren at 1:57 AM
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