Freshly Baked Bread
“Happy birthday, Mom!” Carol’s sing-song voice came through Mom’s kitchen speaker phone.
“Oh, Carol, I’m glad it’s you, honey. I was going to call you tonight because I wanted to tell you that Dad and I have a present for you.”
“But, Mom, It’s your birthday! I —”
“We are giving you our cemetery plots. There’s two. You’ll share with your sister.”
“Huh?”
“We just finished paying them off. The papers came today.” Mom giggled. “Then you called!”
“A real coincidence.”
“Oh, Carol! Don’t be sarcastic. This is important. I’m old and have to think about these things. You’ll see. It will happen to you, too, someday.”
“Sure, Mom! I can’t wait.”
“Dad and I will be cremated. It’s easier that way.”
“Right. This is a lot to take in. Um. What will happen to the ashes?”
“They get thrown in the ocean.”
“Mom, who’s supposed to do that?”
“I guess I will.”
“But, Mom, you’ll be dead.”
“Well, yes, I meant if your father dies first.”
“Oh.” Carol coughed.
“Are you okay, honey?”
“Yes. I just cleared my throat. I’m not dying or anything. Unless there’s something I don’t know yet. Is it okay if I don’t take advantage of your gift just yet? I have plans.”
“Death is so much work. There’s the announcements and refreshments …”
Carol tuned out, resorting to her old trick of clamping her lips together with her thumb and forefinger.
“We’d have to ship our bodies back to Boston. The digger would take us for a ride. Coffins are way too expensive. Oh, then there’s the stone. It could run thousands. They took advantage of Margaret when Bob died. She should have figured it out ahead of time like we’re doing. Remember when Mopsie died, we didn’t know how to get rid of her!”
“Mom! That’s so cruel. Like every day, I still get a pang. Why did we move away and leave Mopsie buried in the backyard? We should have dug her up and taken her with us to the new house.”
Silence.
Without thinking, Carol, blurted out, “I want the ashes, Mom. Be sure I get the ashes.” If Carol didn’t put her foot down now, her mother would probably hand off Dad’s ashes to some stranger.
Carol imagined the interchange:
Mom, where’s Daddy’s ashes?
Mom: Mr. Hutchins was on his way to drop his wife’s ashes into the ocean so I asked if, he would do me a huge favor and while he was at it, would he drop off your father’s ashes. After all, he would be going there anyway. If not, I would have to put them in tin foil and suppose some of the ashes leaked out and the dust got on the coffee table? And suppose, before I had a chance to shoo all the dust away with my feather duster, someone dropped in for a visit? They would think I’m lazy cause I didn’t even clean up.
Carol would say: And what if you opened the door for the UPS guy and a draft blew the ashes around and everyone got covered with soot?
And Mom would say, Don’t be fresh, Carol.
“I hope I die before your father does so he can take care of things. It’s too complicated for me. There he’d be, all Freshly Dead, and what would I do with his body?” In an alarmed whisper, Mom said, “Never mind. Here comes Dad. Don’t tell him what I said.”
Clanging pots pierced Carol’s ears.
She welcomed Dad’s deep, raspy voice, “What’s that I heard about being freshly dead?”
“No, Dad, Mom was talking about her freshly baked bread.”
“Bread, I don’t see any bread.”
Despite Mom’s utterances in the background, Dad scolded her: “But you don’t even know if she wants the plots, Mary! Carol, Carol, are you there?”
“Still here, Daddy.”
“Carol, your mother is rushing into things. Do you actually want the cemetery plots?”
“I kinda haven’t had time to think about it.”
“Is it okay with you if we get cremated?”
“Whatever you want, Daddy, but make sure I get the ashes.”
Carol’s mother chimed in. “Okay, you get the ashes.”
Carol retorted, “Yes!!! Now I get the cemetery plots and you threw in the ashes as a bonus. I’m psyched!”
In response to an indistinguishable exclamation from Mom, Dad raised his voice impatiently. “Mary, regular funerals are not that hard to arrange. Cremation is not the only answer! ”
Forgetting herself, Carol retorted, “Sorry to cause you all so much trouble. Send Mr. Hutchins to the ocean for me, will ya!”
Dad chuckled, although Carol couldn’t imagine how he even got the joke.
“Well, I called to wish you a happy birthday, Mom, and instead, you gave me a gift, something I always wanted – cemetery plots. Sorry to be an ungrateful daughter. Thank you.”
“You’ll share them with your sister.”
If we both die at the same time, we can do a side-by-side! I can hardly wait. We —”
Dad broke in, “No strings attached, Carol. You do what you want with them. Use them or sell them.”
…After the good-byes and “I love you’s,” Carol hung up the phone.
She smiled as she reviewed the whacky conversation which was typical of her family’s everyday eccentricities. As usual, she humored herself: Thanks to my folks, I don’t have to worry about where to bury my own body. It’s hard enough finding shelter while you’re alive; who needs the responsibility of digging your own grave? Arranging and arranging, such a hassle, dying can be harder than living but at least you get to die in peace — but only if you plan ahead — and only if you think about this even before you are born. As Mom would say, “It’s kind of like baking bread. You have to have everything completely ready before you put the loaf in the oven!”
