Yesterday found me driving to an out of the way bakery that’s nearby my old job, because NewBaby was begging for carrot cake. And not just any carrot cake, but that specific carrot cake. I don’t go down there much anymore, but on my way back, waiting at the intersection, I found myself staring across the street at a cemetery. The cemetery that is next to the crematorium where we had Amy cremated. And suddenly, there it was, back to that day, back to picking up her ashes, back to watching Dan write “father” on the line that said “relationship to deceased.”
And I remembered the advice a friend had given me, initially, not to have her cremated anywhere near where we ever go in our day to day lives. But she was already there, and I really don’t go down that way much anymore, but in that moment I really, really wished we’d had her cremated somewhere far, far away.
So this morning, driving to the doctor (routine!), I said to Dan, you know, someone told me we should have Amy cremated somewhere far away and I didn’t think much of it – and he interrupted me and said yeah, I ended up right down there yesterday, and it was so sad.
Separately, at two different times during the day, he and I both ended up a half a block from the crematorium, both crippled with the sadness of the memory.