Her latest gripe is, “Where is my dad?” Everyday I get this call from her, wondering when our dad’s ashes will be delivered to California. I understand it has been one week and two days since he passed away and that his ashes are sitting in a box in a funeral home here in Oklahoma. I also understand that there are rules, regulations and the usual ridiculous paperwork required for “mailing” dead people ashes from one state to another. So what does she want me to do, go downtown, slam “the box” on the health department’s counter and yell, “Listen up! My dad is sick of waiting around. Not only that, do you have any idea who you’re dealing with here? This guy was a famous boxer or something and even his ashes can kick your ass if need be.”
When I raised my voice to that mother-tone decibel and told her to knock it off, dad would get there when he gets there, she started crying. This was followed by her famous, “I have cancer and you need to tell them that.” Um, I am pretty sure the funeral home deals with cancer people everyday. Do you really want them knowing your info? It could be bad, like vultures circling. I’m just saying.
5 comments:
send her a box of sand. she won't be able to tell the difference anyway.
OMG Sarah! ROFL!!
Marla I love reading your blogs, don't stop writting them! I miss you and I understand now where you are going trough. Don't stop being you, I love you!
I wish I could blog about my sister, but I'm saving that scandalous stuff for a full-length memoir.
Amarja ~ I promise to keep writing until someone pays me to stop. I miss you, too! So anything new you want to tell me? nag, nag :-) Love you, little Dutch daughter!
NGIP ~ I will be your first customer when that book comes out. I love your blog!
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