A home forever

Down payment on a new home

Good Friday seemed a good day to do it. I put a down payment on a new home today. This one will be permanent, as in forever and ever, ha-ha. A grave site.

You might think that would be a depressing business transaction. But on the contrary, for me anyway. I feel good. I feel like a load has been lifted.

I opted for burial because I have a fear of fire. I was trapped in a highrise fire once — a real life Towering Inferno. I know I wouldn’t be aware of my incineration if I were to be cremated. It’s just a psychological thing with me.

My wife, however, chose cremation. (I just noticed that only one letter separates cremation from creation: ‘m’ for make of it what you will — doesn’t mean a thing, just thought I’d make a note of it.) My wife’s ashes currently reside in a beautiful bronze urn in my lowly bungalow on a country road in the far exurbs of New York City.

I have instructed that the urn be buried with me in my modest casket. We will be together again. Albeit in good ole oblivion. But what the hell, we will be together, which is all I’ve wanted ever since she died.

This whole business is crazy, I know, but I feel good. I’m actually looking forward to it, being with my wife and all. Hey, here’s a thought, maybe it won’t be oblivion.

Ah, happy day.

ADDENDUM: Have you ever done something in a moment of emotion or religious fervor and the next day had second thoughts? I wrote the above last night in the waning moments of Good Friday and here it is the next morning and I’m thinking, What if my wife doesn’t want me hanging around for all eternity?! What if she wants a break?

Crap, that sobering thought doth give me pause. This morning, with the sun finally shining, and the crucifixion behind me, I personally don’t give a rat’s ass if they throw my body into Fishkill Creek. Let the currents carry it to the Hudson River and down past the west side of Manhattan and out to sea. Yeah, that’s the ticket. I’ll return to the sea, whence I came, whence we all came.

I’m not going to call the funeral home and cancel my order. They can give my grave to someone who would otherwise be buried in a potter’s field for unclaimed or homeless people.

That thought makes me feel even better. God moves in mysterious ways.

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