Like me, Grace was estranged from her family; she had been close to her mother and stepfather, but her mother died about two years before we met, and her stepfather passed about 20 years ago. But neither of her siblings seemed interested in keeping in touch, and she hadn’t spoken to her daughter since an ugly, acrimonious divorce in the early ’90s. So when the mortician told me that there would be a delay in cremation due to legal requirements that they attempt to contact her next of kin, I was irritated but unsurprised. It wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been; they called me Friday to tell me the numbers they could find were all either disconnected or unresponsive, so they were going ahead with the arrangements we’d discussed. And in a few weeks, when the weather improves, I’m going to have friends over for a memorial and spreading of her ashes, because that was what she wanted. Jae told me a few days ago that Grace had told her that after her passing, she wanted her tools to go to a reservation school for use in shop classes; I’m trying to get in touch with tribal governments to find a likely candidate. Though she hadn’t mentioned it to me, I have no doubt that Jae understood her correctly; over the time I’ve known her she has become increasingly interested in her heritage, and her tools were her most prized possessions so she’d want them to be used rather than just collecting dust or rust.
Speaking of her possessions, right now they’re triggering tears every time I see them; I do most of my writing at the kitchen table, which means her chair and desk are only about two meters away, and cluttered with all of her things. On Sunday, I decided to put fresh linens on her bed and didn’t stop crying for an hour afterward. And because I’m very sentimental, I’ve kept every little gift she’s ever given me; the picture above was the card that came with flowers she sent for my birthday in 2015, while I was in Seattle and she was still in Oklahoma. It’s not even her handwriting, because of course the florist took it down from her dictation. But the words and thoughts were hers, and may give you some inkling of why I’m missing her so terribly right now.
