Tokens, mementos and ashes- -documentation of a human life.
A human life carries with it a collection of artifacts- -tokens, mementos and, when time runs out, ashes.
By token, I choose the meaning of a symbol or emblem. Early in our relationship Bruce wistfully requested a token from me. Nothing fancy, he said, maybe just a little silver ring that he could wear on a pinkie finger, a symbol of what was happening between us. I found just such a ring at a local bead shop. It seemed perfect, as part but not all of it was stamped with a design, a blank stretch of silver designating the unknown. He presented me with a similar ring not long after. We both wore our silver rings- -friendship rings? promise rings?- -on our right hands.
Today I wear them both, his stacked beneath mine to ensure it doesn’t slip off. Our wedding rings, plain gold bands, are similarly stacked on my left hand ring finger. This configuration first occurred on December 14, 2018, minutes before Bruce was taken off for the procedure that couldn’t be done, the procedure that told us his time was even shorter than we’d first believed. “Don’t lose these,” he’d said as he worked the bands off his fingers and handed them to me. Even on that day, a couple of hours later when I learned the news was dire, looking down at my hands, at the silver and gold stacks, brought me comfort.
Mementos- -programs, ticket stubs, newspaper clippings- -we’d pitched a lot of that stuff when we moved last May, yet there’s still so much. What’s so important about a used up Disneyland gift card from our honeymoon or ticket stubs from a Walla Walla Sweets home game? Everything and nothing. If I were cleaning out someone else’s stuff, I’d toss these. But those times and days are somehow more vivid to me when I look at the pieces of paper that document nothing more than a “day in the life of.”
Ashes: the sand in the hourglass that finally runs out. I’ve learned this week that you don’t “pick up ashes,” you “receive cremated remains.” The formality of funeral home parlance might be off-putting to some, but, through this process of collecting the most basic physical remnants of Bruce I’ve appreciated the respectful, formal language employed. Receiving Bruce’s remains was a sacred experience. Bringing this part of him home, to the house, was the right and reassuring action to take.
The shock of Bruce’s death is wearing away. Sadness edges in to claim the vacant emotional space but it can’t squeeze out the good memories and my belief that he is still here, just in a different form. When I touch the rings, they are warm.
This post touched me in a special way,Susan. I have spent this week going through mementos and tokens saved by my mother and my Aunt Linnea, her older sister. Both have been gone for several decades, but much of the essence of each of them lingers in these things they kept as remembrances. There are unanswerable questions that arise whose answers died with the last of their siblings five years ago. And I am left wondering to whom should I entrust these relics since neither had grandchildren and my mother’s two daughters are now in their mid-seventies. It seems so rude to just dispose of things they valued.
It is difficult, indeed, to handle the bits and bobs accumulated during a lifetime, each fragment endowed with memory and meaning. Each of us, I guess, becomes a museum of our lives. I remember when Mom, Bruce and I were sorting through (grandma) Mary Sullivan’s desk after she died (2006). A pristine invitation to Mom & Dad’s wedding, July 14, 1945, was among the items in the Duncan Phyfe secretary. Much was thrown out, but not that invitation. I’m hopeless at visual art, but perhaps there’s a way to make a collage out of some of the things you’ve found? Or maybe there’s an archive or museum where you mom and aunt grew up that would want some of the mementos? It’s a tricky process, indeed. Best to you, Susan
Susan, you write so beautifully and poignantly of a life well shared with a good man. Thank you and hope these memories will continue to warm your heart and soul. Take care.
Thank you, Eileen.
♥️ My heart feels full and eyes fill with tears for you, as I continue to be amazed you write so clearly and exquisitely about your experience of loss and all the facets of it, this place you’ve never been before.💕
Penney, it’s an interesting place as well as sad. I guess that’s part of what’s keeping me going as well as I am. Thanks for thinking of me.
Beautiful And so true…..
Thank you.
You are very welcome, Claire. Best to you.
Touching and pure
Youve been on my mind
Thanks, Ms. Ruby. I got your phone message and will call back in a couple of days (as you might imagine, my cell plan minutes are way over the limit but they reset on the 16th). In the interim, thanks for thinking of me and know that I am doing well.