Bob has been gone for over a year now. I visited his spot in the Houston National Cemetery on his birthday, one year to the day since we interred his ashes. It was an overcast day with rain, which was a good mirror of my mood.
Seeing his permanent plaque was agonizing although important. I know it was supposed to give me some sort of closure, and since it felt like a door had been slammed in my face, I guess it did.
I suppose I should find some comfort in knowing my ashes can be placed in the cubicle with his, but I don't even know that I want to stay in Texas let alone know where/how my remains will be disposed of. I just hope I manage to get enough things done before my death so as not to leave a tremendous burden on my daughter. It is bad enough that she'll need to look after her brother, assuming he outlives me, without having to sort through 25 years of projects, plans, and postponed dreams.
I suppose I should find some comfort in knowing my ashes can be placed in the cubicle with his, but I don't even know that I want to stay in Texas let alone know where/how my remains will be disposed of. I just hope I manage to get enough things done before my death so as not to leave a tremendous burden on my daughter. It is bad enough that she'll need to look after her brother, assuming he outlives me, without having to sort through 25 years of projects, plans, and postponed dreams.
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