Mike sits on the top shelf of my closet. I’ve moved him a couple of times – to get suitcases down, to rearrange where I put my sweaters, to hide birthday presents for the kids behind the box that holds his cremated remains. I decided last week that he needs to go. Find a permanent resting place. Get out of my closet. Give us some closure.

I’ve had the last five days off work (work? yeah, that’s another entry for a later time…) and by today, my last vacation day, I had crossed everything off the to-do list, except one thing – calling the cemetary in our college town. Mike and I lived in Indianapolis, St. Louis, and southern Illinois in the last 10 years. My parents have lived in a couple of places and his parents…well, Mike hated the town in which he grew up. So I decided to have him placed in the town in which we met and went to college.

I don’t know why I’ve been putting off making the call. How hard could that be? “I’d like a final resting place to put an urn of human ashes, please. Preferably with a scenic view, but that’s negotiable.”

I called the cemetary today. I was sobbing so much I wasn’t sure my phone number was clear on the answering machine. (Answering machine? Hello, 1997!) When the return call came an hour later, I was sure I was okay to talk through what I needed.

Wrong.

As soon as the cemetary guy introduced himself, my eyes filled with tears. My nose started running. I felt my throat closing up. I started rambling about how I wanted to bury my husband somewhere that we would visit often. Where  we had a connection. Somewhere that would be special to him, and to me. I don’t think cemetary guy cared.

He walked me through what I needed to do to arrange for a burial of the remains. The “Disposition of Remains” form. The urn measurements. The cost. Getting a grave marker. He told me I could just mail the remains if I didn’t want to come down. That didn’t seem right. I don’t want a big service, but I think there’s benefit for closure for the kids and I to “see” the urn going into the ground. Cemetary guy said he knew a nice spot in the “single section” – close to the river, by some big, old trees, near a walking patch that is close to the college, in a section that is about 100 years old. (“Single section” since they only sell individual plots, still, it was kind of weird – and strangely amusing – to think of a “singles” section, or a M@tch dot com for human remains.)

I just need to send a few things to cemetary guy then he can arrange everything – probably when I’m back on campus for alumni board meetings in August.

My tears are dried, and while I feel a little relief, closure is sort of sad.

Thank yous are done (well, for $$ gifts anyway). While I’m appreciative of the money, it’s very uncomfortable for me. I’m putting it away for the kids’ education, but we don’t NEED it. I know there are others out there who could benefit from it.

One random question: Who writes a check to a dead man?

One of the checks was made out to Mike. He obviously can’t cash it. The bank suggests going back to the person who sent it and asking for them to redo it. That seems weird and awkward. And, I don’t know them – friends or neighbors of the in-laws, I think. Maybe I should have put a note in their thank you: “Hey, that’s nice and all, but Mike isn’t making many trips to the bank these days… can you write another check out to me?” Awkward.

Sidenote: Still haven’t heard a peep from the in-laws. It’s been almost 13 weeks since Mike died.

Sidenote #2: The (very generous) random anonymous cashier’s check was made out to “Mike’s children, c/o Jackie” – the bank let that one pass, but there’s a concern that it might get rejected since the bank information, including location, was crossed off (on both sides) with permanent marker. Someone really wanted to stay anonymous… I don’t know why.