Thanksgiving

Yesterday I went to the place where Andy was cremated to get his ashes. It was in a place of Burlington I’ve never been to before, a small city of industrial buildings. Initially GPS took me to the loading docks behind a long metal building – similar to an oversized Morton building, for those of you who are familiar with those. I drove around to the other side of the building to find a few small storefronts, and one was for the cremation business.

I was surprised when I walked in to find an area that looked like a funeral home; it was incongruous with the neighborhood and building. I thought they only did cremations, but apparently they hold services too.

My expectations were low because of the location, and because when they picked up Andy’s body from the hospice, they loaded him into a Honda Odyssey that hadn’t been washed for some time.

I don’t want to complain but I expected a hearse, or at least a clean minivan.

But the woman who greeted me had the perfect balance of being kind and empathetic yet also explaining the logistics of transferring the remains that she was giving me into the wooden urn I ordered from Etsy once it arrives. She gave me five death certificates and said she could get more if needed. She gave me a checklist of things to do – some I’ve already started on, and some later tasks I haven’t even looked at yet because I can only take in so much at once.

The cardboard box of ashes looked sturdier than I expected, and I was surprised by how heavy it was when I picked it up. I suppose it is fitting that ashes are heavy like grief.

I brought it home and put it on a bookshelf; and then covered the box with a photo of Andy and Brian because Charlie doesn’t want to look at or think about the ashes right now.

Later that night, Violet and I joined the Old Man Dinner, where Andy was the topic.

For many years when we lived in LA, Andy attended a weekly Tuesday dinner with friends from the music business. Andy would joke that he was the youngest of most of them, and eventually the boys would say, when he left on Tuesdays, “are you going to the old man dinner?” And sometime after that the moniker caught on among all the old men, even spawning an “Old Man Dinner Band.” And then during Covid, the dinners moved to Zoom and no longer included dinner, though I think there is still an in-person version happening in Los Angeles.

Usually the Zoom sessions are only men, but sometimes women are allowed. They used to have occasional ladies’ nights at the original one too.

Last night we were treated to many stories about Andy, and inside jokes about Klondike Bars and Dynasty Typewriter, and tales about Andy and Brian Wilson and Phil Spector. We also discussed the celebration of Andy that Jim Turner will be producing sometime this spring in Los Angeles. (I’ll share more details when we have them.)

I have so much to do I’ve had trouble doing much at all, except writing. I need to start working my way through the checklists for what to do when a spouse dies, do some work on the house; sort through SO MUCH stuff that Andy had saved, and also go back to work. My company has been so accommodating and supportive, but I need to get back to work before too long.

Violet and the boys and I are going to have a small Thanksgiving at home. I am both looking forward to it and dreading it at the same time. Five years ago, I was with my dad while he was on hospice on Thanksgiving, and he died on December 4, 2019. Thanksgivings have been hard since then. We’ll try to make the most of a difficult day.