Shortly after my mother died, a very good friend gave me a tree that would grow and blossom as a beautiful reminder that Janet would always be with me. Well … it’s a Magenta Tree and let’s just say my strongest obsessive compulsions are reaching ridiculous heights. I bring my coffee outside and check my mother up and down, assess the new blossoms and I’ve even talked to her. I check the sunlight and its trajectory throughout the day. It was intended to be therapeutic but I just don’t know if I can handle the pressure.
Then there’s the issue of what we do with Janet when we move. Are we gonna load her up on the car roof? So she’s in a big white ceramic transportable pot. I can’t plant her in the ground and just leave her behind. I guess I could build a clause into the contract when selling the house but what would the terms be:
- Under no circumstances may Janet ever be moved.
- She is priority one during fertilizer season.
- She may require an indoor environment if the temperature drops below forty.
- Don’t stare at her too long. She’s not YOUR mother.
- Christmas lights are strictly forbidden. Granted she was lit half her life but now she’s rest’n.
And then do a few impromptu sneak visitations just to ensure they’re not in violation of the contract. It’s gonna be tough but she requires as much attention dead as she did alive, and man oh man did she require alotta attention while living. It’s weird that this tree has taken center stage as the box with her ashes are in a bottom dresser drawer right next to my father’s box. I don’t know what the hell to do with either of them. And until I know, they’re really no trouble at all. Maybe matching urns. Maybe mix them into the tree’s soil.
I dunno.
Death rituals need a shake up.
Maybe I’ll grab the baton and start the parade.