Tomb of the UnMarrieds

Yesterday morning I opted for the iPod on my morning ride and forgot my phone at home. It was one of those days when getting the energy to exercise was ridiculously more difficult than normal. And trust me, it is always beyond difficult for me to get the motivation. The pug failed to move from his morning nap so I took out alone and turned the volume up loud.

I returned home 40 minutes later (ok, I know, I didn't do an hour as I should have and frankly I may be padding the time by a few minutes) to find a message from my older sister. "Whatever you do, do not take a call from our parents until you've spoken to me!" she begged.

It's now nearly 9:30 on Sunday morning so I call her at home. No answer - dear God, I must know now - so I call her cell. She answers quickly, "You're going to be blogging about this for days!" she warns me.

Our mother got her before 8:30 in the morning with the joyous news that our small home town is going to finally build - get this - another mausoleum. This news brings much joy to mother and she giddily asks my sister if we (my sister and I - the unmarried and living alone) would like to buy plots with she and my father. It should be done soon because there is little available, and it is imperative we support the project. My sister begs her to give her a little time to think about it and get back. Before they hang up my mother sings out, "Just let me know if we need to buy 4 plots."

Happy Sunday Morning to you too!

My sister is now at a loss for words. What is the most incredible point of this?

• That my parents are truly jazzed up there are burial plots available?
  
• That just because we're 'ALONE' our parents think we need to consider burial plots now?
• That this is the type of news worth an early morning emergency phone call?

Ok, the last one is actually a bit inaccurate. Anyone who knows my family knows that by 8:30 on any given morning the majority of us has been up for at least 2 hours, some closer to 4.

I sigh as she finishes her story of the phone call.

"Actually, I've already settled this with mother." I inform her.

My parents bought when they were very young next to my paternal grandfather and his second wife. My sister was killed in a car accident in 1977 so she is now buried in it. A few years ago my father's sister asked if she could have the spot with my sister. She died shortly thereafter from cancer. Sometime after her funeral I asked my mother if I could be buried with them.

"There is no room for another coffin" she lamented.

"But there is for an urn," I countered. I expected my mother to shudder, though it's now allowed, most Catholics aren't fond of the idea of cremation. My mother surprised me with her joyful response, "Oh that's true, all that matters is you'll be in consecrated land."

So that, I thought, was that. My mother was overjoyed I would be buried in a Catholic cemetery and I got over the icky task of telling them I want to be cremated. Pop me in in with the other "unfortunate un-marrieds" and call it the Tomb of Old Maids.

When I tell her, my sister is in. Ok, I didn't mention the "Tomb of Old Maids" nickname. "Don't worry, I'll talk to them."

I hang up and dial home. My father answers. We chit chat about the upcoming family vacation for a few minutes and then my father gets right to it.

"Did your mother call you this morning?"

"No, but I heard the news from Sis."

"Well, are you interested?" His voice is earnest, clearly it's important to him as well.

"Pop, I've already settled this issue with Mom." So I tell him of my plans. "I guess it's good we're discussing this because I need you to handle whatever legal papers we need to allow me into the crypt."

My father muses, "I don't know how they go about placing urns with caskets."

"It doesn't matter to me, all I'll need is a small space. Just throw me in the back."

There is silence on the phone. My father gulps. He is 74 years old and death is very real to him. I suddenly realize he's probably envisioning me throwing his body in the mausoleum any old way, slamming the door shut and walking away never to return. This is not amusing.

"Dad, I would just be honored to be buried with them if it's ok with you and Mom. And the church is ok with cremation as long as I'm placed on sacred ground." This calms him down a little. He admits he knows this but he's just not quite at the point of being comfortable with cremation for himself. And besides, "we" all really need to support this new mausoleum.

"I know, but I'm ok with my little spot if you're ok. And Sis wants to go with the same plan. No more cost or worry to anyone."

I hang up needing a shower. Sure, it's in large part to the copious amount of sweat from my bike ride. But bursting my parents bubble, considering my parents, sister and my own mortality, discussing funerals and thinking of the Tomb of Old Maids has made me feel soiled.

And to dust we shall return...