The first few weeks after my husband was called home to Heaven were the hardest. My son had surgery the week after his death and they had a very hard time waking him up. I literally was a walking zombie.
Here I was a 47 year old widow. What the hell??? I was angry. Dammit I was pissed- at everyone and everything. Mostly at God. Yes, I yelled at the Big Man, called him names and even challenged him to give me ONE MORE FUCKING thing to deal with. Come on, I shouted- show me what  you are made of. Give me all that you got. It was during this time that I came to the realization that this was part of the process. I had stopped mourning and began to grieve.

I remember picking up my husbands' ashes at the Funeral Home. He had never been in my car because he couldn't transfer from the wheelchair and didn't want anyone to pick him up. We had a handicapped van that the wheelchair went right into if we needed to go somewhere. Here I was taking an urn in a bag of what was my husband. This was the first time I had ever dealt with  "remains" or "cremains" as they are called. I had to honor his wishes and have him cremated. It was surreal to me. I held it together until I got into the vehicle and then I lost it. I had my husband, in an urn, in a bag in the seat next to me. I said out loud A" Hey Pete, this is your first ride in my car." I began to laugh hysterically. I had to pull over in a parking lot. Here I am laughing like a maniac with tears just pouring out of my face. People drove past, some stopping to see what the heck this crazy lady was doing. I wanted everyone to know... I HAVE MY CREMATED HUSBAND IN THE SEAT OF MY CAR. It was nuts.

Somehow I got it together and made it home. My son carried the urn into the house and we put it in the "shrine". I have a beautiful hand made wooden cabinet that my husband had his Elvis Presley collection in. It has now become his place. Two years later, I still have not touched it. I just cannot bring myself to do that. I am learning that this is ok.