Drama and Dignity

We started the day with a bit of drama around here. Jacob developed some stomach pain last night. The doctors next door advised watching it, but it didn’t get better during the night. So off to the pediatrician first thing this morning, in a rush. After blood work and some tests at Cook Children’s, the verdict is not appendicitis, but he’s still not feeling well. I think he was a tad disappointed he didn’t have to have surgery because as he explained to me it would be a tiny scar and he’d have gotten to miss two or three days of school. Rather hopeful when he said, “There still like a three percent chance.”

I have been in a search or my father’s grave. That may sound like we were not a close family or something, which is far from the truth. Dad died at M. D. Anderson in Houston on November 1, 1976—forty-two years ago. We were in Houston with him, and after his unexpected post-op death we drove back to Fort Worth in the middle of the night, well aware that his body beat us here. He was at Shannon Funeral Home on Lubbock in the TCU area. We had a service here and, months later a service—memorial I’m sure—in Tryon, N.C. where my parents were living. Sometime in there, Dad was buried in his hometown of Oakville, Ontario, next to my sister who died in infancy. The question is, what cemetery?

My mother has been gone thirty years, and there are no Canadian relatives to ask. But I plan to be in Toronto some time next fall and would like to visit the grave. I’ve called cemeteries, and the provincial cemetery association, and even the offices of Clan MacBain (my maiden name). I’ve checked findagrave.com. No luck, though one close match in Peterborough, Ontario.

I thought Saturday to call Shannon’s at Rose Hill and was referred to the corporate center of the company that now owns the formerly family-owned funeral homes. The receptionist referred me to Dignity, Inc. so this morning I called. I was greeted with a cheery, “Thank you for calling. Just for calling us, you are eligible for a Caribbean cruise. If you want more details, press one. If not, press pound.” I pressed pound. After equally cheery offers of road service insurance and some other irresistible offer, which I resisted, I decided there was definitely no dignity in this. I hung up and called Shannon’s on Rufe Snow where a friendly voice assured me she could look up the information and get back to me. She was quite sure I’d gotten the wrong number for corporate headquarters. I certainly hope so.

So I’m waiting to hear—from Shannon’s, from the Canadian cemetery project, from someone St. John’s Anglican Cemetery in Peterborough. And I’m sure my dad is shaking his head in exasperation.

Maybe, just maybe, spring is coming. Today our yard got a good clean-up and the first mow, and this afternoon it is warm enough to have the patio door open so Sophie can come and go, though there’s just a slight chill in the air that leads me to believe I’ll close the door soon. Still it’s the most hopeful day we’ve had in a while.