my throat, and I continued to back away, creeping out into the hallway and shutting the door behind me. I knew I should go downstairs and tell my father what had happened, but for some reason my feet took me in the opposite direction, toward my parents’ bedroom. Before I even knew what I was doing, my hand seemed to have reached out of its own accord and was turning the knob. I’d just seen death. I needed to see my mother’s, too, so it would be just as real. Maybe then my brain would be shocked out of its current numb state.
The sun was beginning to set, but my parents’ bedroom had a window in the western wall, so a warm, mellow light was flooding the space. It was certainly bright enough for me to see where my mother’s body should be lying, propped up against the pillows on her side of the bed.
Only…she wasn’t there.
My first thought was that my father must have moved her, but why in the world would he have done that? Besides, there wasn’t anyplace he really could have moved her, not unless he put her in the bathtub for some reason.
On second thought, that notion wasn’t so strange. He could’ve put her in an ice-cold bath in an attempt to bring her temperature down.
I rushed into the en suite bathroom, but the tub was empty. As I stared down at it, I realized that was a ridiculous notion. Even if my father had put her in the bath, I would have heard the water running, and I’d heard no such thing.
Thoughts racing, first rejecting one idea, and then another, I returned to the bedroom. From this angle, I could now see a pile of fine gray dust marring the surface of the blue and tan striped comforter, the one my father had permitted in the room only because “it wasn’t too girly.”
Dust? My mother would never allow dust to collect on the furniture, let alone a pile like that right on the bed.
Cold coiled in the pit of my stomach as I stared down at the strange little pile. On a dare from Devin, I’d once peeked inside the urn containing my grandmother’s ashes…and they had been almost the exact color and consistency as the ashes now sitting on my parents’ bed.
No, that was impossible.
Then my father’s words came back to me: It’ll take care of itself.
Was this what he’d meant? That somehow after she passed, my mother would simply crumble into a pile of dust?
No, I refused to believe that. There had to be an explanation. Otherwise….
Otherwise, this whole situation had moved from the unexplainable and tragic to the positively Biblical. Whoever heard of bodies turning themselves to ash, unless it was by some strange otherworldly force?
“You see,” my father said. He must have come upstairs while I was standing there, staring down at my mother in shock. His speech sounded a little slurred, but at least he hadn’t brought the glass of Scotch up with him.
“What — what happened?”
“It’s what happens to all of them,” he replied. “Usually within an hour of death.” Rubbing at his brow, he added, “Very clean, when you think about it. Much better than having all those bodies lying around, don’t you think?”
I stared at him in horror. “That’s Mom lying there!”
“No,” he corrected me. “That’s what used to be your mother. The part of her that was really her — that’s gone. To a better place, I have to hope, but after everything I’ve seen today, I’m beginning to have my doubts.”
His voice was sad, but resigned. And as I looked at him, I noticed the way he wasn’t completely steady on his feet, the glisten of sweat on his forehead from the last rays of sun coming in through the window. Maybe my mind had registered them earlier, but had dismissed them as effects of the alcohol. Now, though….
No . Even as my mind recoiled from the thought, I found myself asking, “Dad, are you sick?”
He gave me a sad smile. “I think I am. Finally caught up with me, I suppose.” His gaze moved to the bed. “I should probably lie down, but….”
“Go
The sun was beginning to set, but my parents’ bedroom had a window in the western wall, so a warm, mellow light was flooding the space. It was certainly bright enough for me to see where my mother’s body should be lying, propped up against the pillows on her side of the bed.
Only…she wasn’t there.
My first thought was that my father must have moved her, but why in the world would he have done that? Besides, there wasn’t anyplace he really could have moved her, not unless he put her in the bathtub for some reason.
On second thought, that notion wasn’t so strange. He could’ve put her in an ice-cold bath in an attempt to bring her temperature down.
I rushed into the en suite bathroom, but the tub was empty. As I stared down at it, I realized that was a ridiculous notion. Even if my father had put her in the bath, I would have heard the water running, and I’d heard no such thing.
Thoughts racing, first rejecting one idea, and then another, I returned to the bedroom. From this angle, I could now see a pile of fine gray dust marring the surface of the blue and tan striped comforter, the one my father had permitted in the room only because “it wasn’t too girly.”
Dust? My mother would never allow dust to collect on the furniture, let alone a pile like that right on the bed.
Cold coiled in the pit of my stomach as I stared down at the strange little pile. On a dare from Devin, I’d once peeked inside the urn containing my grandmother’s ashes…and they had been almost the exact color and consistency as the ashes now sitting on my parents’ bed.
No, that was impossible.
Then my father’s words came back to me: It’ll take care of itself.
Was this what he’d meant? That somehow after she passed, my mother would simply crumble into a pile of dust?
No, I refused to believe that. There had to be an explanation. Otherwise….
Otherwise, this whole situation had moved from the unexplainable and tragic to the positively Biblical. Whoever heard of bodies turning themselves to ash, unless it was by some strange otherworldly force?
“You see,” my father said. He must have come upstairs while I was standing there, staring down at my mother in shock. His speech sounded a little slurred, but at least he hadn’t brought the glass of Scotch up with him.
“What — what happened?”
“It’s what happens to all of them,” he replied. “Usually within an hour of death.” Rubbing at his brow, he added, “Very clean, when you think about it. Much better than having all those bodies lying around, don’t you think?”
I stared at him in horror. “That’s Mom lying there!”
“No,” he corrected me. “That’s what used to be your mother. The part of her that was really her — that’s gone. To a better place, I have to hope, but after everything I’ve seen today, I’m beginning to have my doubts.”
His voice was sad, but resigned. And as I looked at him, I noticed the way he wasn’t completely steady on his feet, the glisten of sweat on his forehead from the last rays of sun coming in through the window. Maybe my mind had registered them earlier, but had dismissed them as effects of the alcohol. Now, though….
No . Even as my mind recoiled from the thought, I found myself asking, “Dad, are you sick?”
He gave me a sad smile. “I think I am. Finally caught up with me, I suppose.” His gaze moved to the bed. “I should probably lie down, but….”
“Go
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