We brush and floss our teeth, exercise, attempt to eat healthy, try to get adequate sleep, and wear seat belts. As I tearfully gazed at the father carefully cradling the container, I thought about the many times he held his son as a newborn and youth, the occasions he must have wrapped his arms around him to comfort his pain, and the pats on the back that conveyed, “Good job, son!” I recently watched a friend carry his son’s urn down the aisle of my church at the end of the son’s funeral service. Within walking distance of my Virginia home, there are two columbaria that hold the remnants of quite a few folks with whom I shared life and worship and conversations. When I visit my North Carolina hometown, I usually wander through the Moravian Graveyard, reminiscing about the many good folks–including my dear parents–whose earthly remains rest there. It’s a bit strange to hold a clear sack of ashes, knowing those flakes were once an energetic and very large canine who was covered in spots and who provided me with nearly fourteen years of love. In the first year after his death, I pulled that clear bag out a few times and held it in my lap, tears streaming down my cheeks. A couple of small decorative tins and a duo of marble urns hold the cremains of two cats, a ferret, and a Dalmatian.Ĭonfession: I’ve actually opened and removed the bag of my dog’s cremains on a couple occasions. It’s not an official resting place for animals, and it contains no niches.
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