Laughing or Crying

I took an unintentional break on recreational writing. Instead I had to write  something rather serious,
and completely outside of my comfort zone.  I had to write my brothers obituary.  My brother expired his last breathe unexpectedly and it was like aftershocks of a major earthquake. You never knew when the next ripple was going to hit.

It was during this, that I discovered that I am one of those people that will laugh when it is probably more appropriate to cry.  While assisting with all the nitty gritty details of setting up a memorial service, I couldn't help but think about how this is just one more adventure that I could have with my brother, and he couldn't say anything to stop me from being an utter idiot or calling him an idiot.

My fit of giggles started when I was asked if I would want any of his ashes. It turns out that they have these little keepsakes that you can keep a piece of your loved one with you always. It is sentimental, and I can completely understand why people would want to do it.  However, the first thing I thought of when presented with this option was the Dib Cat making off with it and trying to bat it around the house like a cat toy.  It isn't like I would give it to the Dib Cat, but more like he would steal it out of the display case in the hall like a thief in the night, or perhaps like a cat burglar. Then it would be just my luck, because I have that sort of luck that the keepsake would break, and I would have nothing but my brother spread out all over the place, because of course the Dib Cat would bat it around all over the place like a professional hockey player.  I feel that it would probably be in bad taste to vacuum him up and try to sift him out of the cat hair and what not that gets caught in the filter.

Of course I could put him some where the cats could not get to him, but I feel really weird about putting him in my underwear drawer. That borders lines along really really creepy. Let me store human ashes with my polka dot underwear and stockings. Nope. Not doing it. I don't want to stumble across him when I am looking for my garters. It sort of kills any mood  may be going for at that time.  Can't keep him in the kitchen, because that would also lead to some questions that I would rather not answer as to my prowess in the kitchen and if my brother died from my cooking.  I want people to eat in my kitchen and at my table, so having him hang out there next to the kangaroo bottle opener would not be a wise idea.  

When the memorial came about, it was still a lot to take in. Honestly there is so many aspects to a person that it is hard to focus on just a small part of them. There were tears and there was laughter, and that is probably the best way to sum his life. It was a combination of tears and laughter. I did end up with a keepsake, even thought I did not plan on it. A large part of me is not really sure what to do with it.  I know for a fact that I am not putting it on a key chain because it is one of those things that you really don't want to lose on your day to day travels. Until I figure out the best spot to put the keepsake, it is in my jewelry box for safe keeping until I can get my fit of giggles as to where my brother will pop up next out of my system and enjoy the combination of tears and laughter this one last adventure with him has brought me.

We do not remember days, we remember moments.

Cesare Pavese