KamikaZEN

Last Sunday I took mom to visit my dad’s remains.

The idea of visiting my dead friends and family has never really stuck with me, I can’t help feeling as if I was visiting a nicely kept firewood warehouse to visit the beautiful trees… I’d much rather walk in the woods and enjoy the living trees, keeping a fond memory of those already gone.

But I can understand how much we both miss him, and how we both try to cope with his absence, each in our own way.

While she quietly sat by the glass niche, praying and talking as if he could still hear her, I wandered around, and soon found myself looking at the names in the plaques and the myriad tokens of remembrance left by family and friends on every niche.

Here, an adult and a newborn child, same date on both urns which rested side by side, surrounded by thimbles, tiny sewing machines, a seamster’s tape…

There, an old photo of a young and beautiful woman, a pair of knitting needles and a piece of something that shall reamin unfinished forever…

A little further off, a famous comedian I still remembered from my childhood days, surrounded by autographed photos, ticket stubs, newspaper clippings and hundreds of pictures of his favourite soccer team’s mascot…

Within a double niche there was even a whole miniature house, fully furnished in every detail, including two tiny pairs of slippers, his and hers, waiting by the tiny beds. A display worthy of Egyptian kings indeed…

Some niches had nothing but an urn, completely bare and dusty, rusty plaques showing how long they’ve been forgotten.

I couldn’t help but wonder about the many stories hidden behind these strange displays and those they were dedicated to.

Were they fathers and sons, daughters and wives?

Was their life happy or sad?

Did they have big families?

Was their death a relief or a blow?

Did they have friends?

My thoughts were broken when mom got up from her chair.

We silently left this vault of memories and headed back home.