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.

Conflicting emotions...and a big to-do-list

My cousin died Tuesday night in a Toronto nursing home. She'd been in nursing homes for ten years or more and before that lived unhappily, sometimes almost homeless, dumpster diving and all when she'd get off her meds. I never have known a specific diagnosis but I'm sure she was bipolar. I have not seen her since I was twelve--a long time ago, believe me--but for at least seven years I've been taking care of her affairs. I could not understand her on the phone since she had a stroke and my hearing is bad, and her handwriting is illegible (which caused some legal problems). I know she loved dogs, live and stuffed, and she was a pack rat, her room crowded with "stuff."
When I was about twenty, my parents were taking off on a road trip and that morning my dad fixed me with a solemn look and said, "Judy, if anything happens to us, you will take care of Jenny, won't you?" At twenty I didn't want to even think about something happening to my parents, but about ten years ago, when the aunt who watched over Jenny as best she could, began to fail, my dad's words came thundering back at me.
When people offer sympathy, I'm a bit at a loss. She was happy where she was, in a provincial home where people loved her. They've written me about her laughter and her sense of humor and I'm sad for her that's gone. I'm sad too for her miserable life and all that she missed. But she left no hole in my life, no personal sense of loss--and that too is sad.
What I am left with is all the details of administering estate, complicated greatly by the fact that she was in Canada and I am a non-resident. I now have a Canadian lawyer, have sent an obituary to the Toronto paper, have filled out cemetery papers, and done all sorts of other paper work. Yesterday, every time I did one thing, five more ran through my brain. I was exhausted last night but have a better handle on things today.
Colin, my oldest, will go with me to Canada sometime soon for a graveside service. To my surprise, the staff of the nursing home want to attend. I thought we would be the only mourners, and I am pleased. But I somehow just couldn't let her leave without some sort of farewell.
And we're going to see if my grandmother's house is still standing. I have such lovely memories of it. It will be good to be in Ontario again.