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(This section is fairly short but part 4 tomorrow is a bit longer then the others and also really ties this all together a bit more as to how it relates to me and religion. Thank you so much for all the kind words and positive reaction so far!)
I still don’t know how my mother put up with it all. She was moving us into a new place, getting me enrolled into a new school, and preparing all of my father’s affairs. It was all a lot to handle but I am thankful my mother dug down deep and did it. I’m sure that I would do no justice to her emotions to even guess at how she was feeling and what she was going through. Thankfully grandma helped as well and was a real comfort. My mom was her youngest and always the baby of the family. She wanted to do everything she could to help us through this situation.
My father had requested before he died to be cremated and to have his ashes scattered across the pond he always used to play at when he was a child. His family, being very religious, didn’t think he should be cremated. They said that he should be buried so that his children can have a grave to visit. My mother ended up coming to a compromise to try and satisfy them and my father was cremated. She took half of his ashes and spread them across the pond as he had requested. The other half was buried in a plot next to what would have been my older half brother, had he not died just a few days after being born.
It is a bit of an aside from the story but something that resulted from it much later I think is important to bring up. My aunt who used to be a nun was quite disappointed with my mother for having my father cremated, even though it was his wish. I was never very close with her but a few years ago I received a call that she had passed and I was part of her will. They needed my address to send me a copy of the information. A few days later I received a copy of her will, it went through many of her items giving them out to various relatives. A few pages in I found my name and it stated that for me and my brother she left nothing. It said she only bothered to mention our name’s at all because she wanted it to be known that it was on purpose and not a mistake. She was so vindictive over something me and my brother had no say in she wanted to give us one last reminder from beyond the dead.
I don’t honestly know if my father had a funeral, or if I was there. Most of my childhood I have very vivid memories but if I was there I blocked it all out because I don’t remember any of it. I don’t remember any service or commentary on his life or all of his family gathering together to cry over his life and experiences. It may have happened, but part of me doesn’t think it ever did which makes me sad in itself.