Don't Know Why cont'd and Deer Park Cremation Pt 1

I screamed when I saw the blood streak the windshield. The little bird hit hard and right in my line of sight, right in front of my eyes.

Bits of feather and guts stuck there, mercilessly.

Something in me broke, and I cried. I had been wrapped in a blanket, sort of keeping it together, staying calm, singing a song as we drove along the highway to Houston, to what was left of my mom.

Deer Park Cremation – part 1

Pasadena in any state is not the most desired area. Drive the gray highway out around the power plants and smokestacks to Pasadena, Texas and Deer Park Funeral Home is smack in its heart. Here, due to the pollution and the city lights, the stars are neither big nor bright at night. The day is a muggy, overcast haze oppressing miles of concrete.

The funeral home was a modest but clean and well-kept building sitting more or less solo on a slab of concrete foundation. We opened the doors of the car and let in the sweltering heat of the day, then dragged up to the building. My boyfriend swung open the glass door for us and my son and I entered the cool air conditioning.

For what I could afford at the time, I thought it was pretty nice. Nothing too gauche, or falling apart. I’d take it.

I sat on the edge of my chair alone in the room that was big enough for whole families to gather in. It seemed like I should try to behave like a lady, maybe like Sally Field in that movie where she tries to sell her cotton. That seemed like a good act to follow since my would-be role model was the very person I was sitting there to honor. I was broken hearted and numb. And alone.

I stared at the dark green carpet, wondering who had chosen that color. Maybe it had been on sale. It looked like they had splurged for the desk. Finally a man came in. He was slightly rotund with a kind face. Not wearing a suit. But then I wasn’t wearing gloves like Sally Field. Maybe this was an ok concession on each of our parts.

These details comforted me. Small distractions and small pieces of hope were what I clung to in this dismal place.