She Really Gets Me, But No Arts and Crafts

 

Today, my daughter and I talked about death. Mine, more exactly. We were in my bedroom, trying to tidy up the mess a bit and she said:

“Mum, please, before you die, just get rid of some of your stuff, O.K?”

I told her no way I am going to throw away my stuff while I am still alive and that she can get rid of everything after I die and not before. But she was: ”Oh, mum, I couldn’t…I couldn’t just throw your things away. You know what? I’ll burry you with them…”

I reminded her that I didn’t want to be buried, you know, in a grave, in the ground. She promised me some time ago she’ll arrange for me to be cremated.

So I added: “You can send me in style. Put me on a raft, on the Sea of Galilee, with my fake jewelry and my candles and my skincare and set me on fire”.

“Mum, I cannot do that! It’s illegal”.

And we laughed and laughed…

“Ok, then cremation it is.”

“You know that the ashes of a cremated body can be stored for a long time. I’ll keep you at home. In a jar.”

“Listen, no crazy stuff with my ashes, Ok?” I replied. “No arts and crafts and stuff like that. Don’t put me in places I wouldn’t like to be. Just take me to Romania. Scatter my ashes over the lake at Valea Draganului. Or bury me under a tree, in the forest near the lake.”

“How am I going to get you there?” she asked, practical, as usual.

“Well…after I die we’ll have to improvise… just dress me nicely, put me in a wheelchair and take me on a plane. Tell them, I’m sorry, my mother is sleeping. Problem solved.”

We laughed until we were breathless. And then we cried.

She really gets me, my daughter.