"You never know, maybe they have cancer."

I walked into the post office early Saturday morning and one clerk was on duty. He was already helping someone and one lady stood in line with a little girl maybe 4 years-old. The woman turned to look at me as I walked up. Then she turned back two more times and it seemed like she scanned me head to toe. It wasn't one of those, hmm, I think I might know this person looks. It was much more judgmental. She was forming an opinion of who and what I was solely by my looks. Maybe she would be more forgiving if she knew why I was there. Maybe not. I couldn't imagine what was wrong with the way I was dressed anyway.

Tom's ashes arrived at my house, not during the 3 weeks I was off. No, all the important stuff arrived this week when I was back at work. They required a signature, so instead I found the "sorry, we missed you" beige card in the mailbox. I set this card in a prominent place on the counter so I could find it to claim the package. It had vanished by Saturday morning when I went to leave. I started panicking. Would they give me the package with just my I.D.? I searched every counter, searched my tote bag, dumped out the contents of my overstuffed purse and since I had taken out the trash also that morning, I went outside and searched there too. Just when I had given up, I found it by the cats' food bowls.

Tom had a bad habit of getting really angry at other drivers when they made mistakes on the road. One day I said, "you never know, maybe they have cancer." My point being, cut them some slack, they may be dealing with some tragic event that had them preoccupied. I am now one of those people. I walk around in public, watch the people around me with their families or couples laughing and I feel very alone. I'm like some tragic heroine in a book and I keep wanting to skip to the end to see I ever find lasting happiness or peace or does life keep ripping it away.

You never know what others are burdened with emotionally. I'm giving you a window into myself, but most don't. I'm crying right now. Not for myself but for a friend who went to see a very ill sibling in a hospital undergoing a serious surgery. The sibling lived, but their father died suddenly while he was there. Talk about a cruel 'cosmic joke.' This was over a year ago, but my friend created an entry for a video competition on this tragic event. He and his daughter as the actors. I hope creating and sharing this brings him some comfort as my blog does me. Another friend is walking around trying to go through the every day motions of life knowing that her husband has terminal cancer. If this had to happen, I am glad that Tom's death was so sudden. I don't know that I would have the kind of strength to face what she is.

The woman was finally called. She also was picking up a package. I wondered what was in hers. I hand the clerk my postcard and he disappears in the back for a very long time. I start to wonder if the packaging is missing. What would happen then? It's not replaceable. I'm left standing alone at the counter scanning my surroundings. Oh yeah, I need paperwork to mail a box to Canada. I need to remember to ask for that. He comes back in apologizing for the long wait. I ask for the paperwork and sign for the package. I'm still certain that the ashes will have no real impact on me. The few times I have seen a dead body. It was just a shell to me. The consciousness, the soul, whatever term you wish to use, was obviously gone. I didn't feel them any more. There was no connection.

I got the box home and it was taped every which way and I wasn't sure where to start to try to open it. I had no idea what the interior container was made of and I didn't want pieces of Tom spilling out onto the counter if I cut too deep. I thought that perhaps that was the reason every bit of the box was taped up. Carefully and slowly I managed to get the box open. It contained another box made of thick plastic. Inside that was a clear bag tied at the top and a round metal tag with the name of the crematorium etched in it. Inside it was Tom's body. I looked closely at the remains. I don't know what I expected, but they were fairly coarse. Little bits of material that were, to me anyway, obvious bone chips, were easily discernible. I placed my hands on the top of the bag and I guess it was the bone chips, but I started weeping uncontrollably. I didn't expect this response. I guess it was another step in making things feel real. I started to reach for a Kleenex, but it was as if my hands were glued to the bag. I just stood there for a while until I calmed down.

That evening everything reminded me of Tom. That he was gone. It was a tough night. I am better this morning.

If there is any bit of knowledge to be gained in this entry, I guess what I'd like to remind people is to be nice to others even if they aren't to you. You can never know what is going on inside their minds and hearts. What pain is lodged there that just needs to be released. Every act of kindness may help.

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The painting is "The Christina Leigh." Tom and I went of vacation in November of last year. I rented us a beach house for a week on Fripp Island in South Carolina. We spent a lot of time photographing. When we did this, Tom was so much bolder than me. He would hop a fence or walk into an area that I felt was likely off limits while I stood back saying, "you sure that's a good idea?" I'm such a scaredy cat. In this case I had desperately wanted to shoot some shrimp boats. We spotted this one docked and explored roads trying to get as close to it as we could. We found it, but the dock area was questionable to me. No one seemed to be there, though. While we explored, the owner and crew arrived. I'm thinking now we're in real trouble and we were asked to leave until Tom explained what we were doing. At that point, they told us to wait and take some photos as they launched. The guy gave Tom his address, so we could send him a print. Without Tom, I never would have painted this piece. I wouldn't have been brave enough to have even stopped here.