My sister died on September 6; we just buried her ashes today. It’s all been such a hurry up and wait affair. I’m not impressed by the mortuary OR the local Catholic priest. I wasn’t even originally told when her graveside would be and I’m the one who had her ashes!
It was a cold grey day…some might say fitting for the task. As my Catholic cousin and I waited in the truck for the others to show up, two elderly men arrived, walked slowly around the old boarded-up church building a few times and then left. I suspect they attended there when they were youngsters.
Soon after, my stepson, my cousin, a half dozen members of the Catholic church and the priest met in the little half-acre cemetery beside the abandoned Methodist church where my sister and I were raised. I noticed that Catholic services have one thing in common with Protestant ones - long windedness. Trees that were were short, when I was a kid, towered around the cemetery, blocking the view of the surrounding hills that I remembered.
I told them that it’s funny the things a person remembers from their childhood. Though long out of fashion by that time, many of the old ladies back then continued to wear their huge old hats, though pillboxes were the style by then. It was hard for a little fellow like me to peer between them and see the choir or the preacher. It was easier to see the latter when he hopped up on the prayer rail and paced back and forth on it’s four-inch width as he preached.
After we left the cemetery, my cousin and I had lunch at Bob Evans, then went to the place I’d bought my own headstone several years ago and bought one for my sister. They charged $742 to set a 10” by 20” stone, which they won’t get done for six months.
I then went to the pawn shop to see if they could order a pistol I wanted, but their suppliers didn’t carry it. After taking my cousin home, I got the pooch some KFC chicken and came home. Copyright 10/27/2021