The receptionist’s tongue stuck out of the corner of her mouth as she focused on pulling the drawstrings tight and making a bow. Like tying a hood under a child’s chin.
“My mother’s right leg…it’s not here.” Gail swallowed and tried again. “Her leg was amputated above the knee twelve days before she died. Is it possible that the hospital still has her leg and it could be cremated and added to the ashes?”
“Oh, gosh.” The receptionist finished dressing Gail’s mother and she stood there, stroking the velvet. “I don’t really know. You’d have to check with the hospital. But…twelve days. That’s a pretty long time, you know. And your mother passed almost two weeks ago, right?”
Gail nodded.
“So it’s been almost a month since the leg was amputated.” The receptionist frowned.
“I didn’t really think about it until now. I mean…I didn’t expect her to die. She was supposed to go to rehab and then to assisted living.”
The frown disappeared and the professional expression of consoling smoothed itself over the receptionist’s face. “Oh, of course you didn’t. Well, why don’t you take her home now and if you find out the leg is still available, call us and we’ll arrange for pick-up and cremation. You can bring the urn back then. There…there would be an extra charge, of course.” The receptionist looked discreetly at the floor.
“I’ll let you know.” Cautiously, Gail slid her arms under the urn and lifted it. Even though her mother was a tiny woman, not even five feet tall and eighty-five pounds (minus the leg…how much does a knee and a calf, ankle and foot, five separate toes, weigh?), Gail expected the urn to be heavy. But it wasn’t…it was solid and settled easily into her arms, and it wasn’t as bulky as a bag of sidewalk salt or a grocery bag overstuffed with canned goods. She attempted a smile at the receptionist, then carried her mother out the door.
She stood for a moment, wondering where to put her mother. The trunk? The floor of the car? The back seat? Finally, she placed her in the front passenger seat, making sure the bag was firmly settled and wouldn’t fall at a surprise bump or swerve. For now, Gail’s mother was going home to her own apartment. The lease wasn’t up for a month yet. Gail was sure this wasn’t the way her mother expected to return.
Partway to the apartment, Gail had to pull over. She placed her hand on the burgundy knapsack. Inside was her mother. Someone who was a body just a week and a half ago. Was breathing. Had two arms, two hands, one whole leg and a foot, and a stump. And now she was a pile of ashes in a brass brick.
The hailstorm hit again and Gail cried with the shivers. She wondered if her tears were cold. Still, they surprised her. She hadn’t expected to grieve. This was her mother, after all. The woman she wished dead a million times. And now she had what she wished for. Her tears must be cold, they couldn’t be warm. But then, nothing made sense anymore.
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