What should I do?

What should I do?

I have a small problem. Really, in the grand scheme of things, this isn’t even a problem. But I perceive it at as a problem and I don’t know what to do about it.

The problem is my Grandma. This isn’t my mom’s mother – the one who is fighting cancer right now. No, this has to do with my dad’s mother. The problem is, I have to do something… anything… and I’m not sure what to do.

My grandma is in my closet. I really want to get her out of my closet, but I don’t know where to put her.

You see my grandma didn’t want a funeral. She always wanted to be a doctor, but never could be. So, she decided to donate her body to medical science. She was a cadaver for a gross anatomy class at Columbia University in New York City. When she made out her will, she contacted Columbia. At that time, the school just disposed of the bodies when they were done using them. So, she made no previsions in her will to deal with her remains.

When my grandma died, my dad was very unhappy about sending her body off to be sliced and diced by first year (I think that’s when they take gross anatomy) med students. But he wanted to respect his mother’s wishes – so off she went.

Life went on. Life was good.

Then one day, almost a year after she died, a small box arrived in the mail for my dad. It was from Columbia. At first he thought it was some kind of “thank-you” gift and he started to open it. There were cardboard boxes inside of boxes. Before he got to the final surprise, he realized the school had sent back the cremated remains of my grandmother.

He didn’t know what to do with her, so he stuck her on a shelf in the closet and decided he would consult with his brother.

At the time he was in the middle of a messy divorce from my mother. Then he moved out of the family home and it was sold. Then I got pregnant and life was consumed with baby plans. Then he got cancer. I don’t know if he ever did consult with his brother, but when I went to close down his apartment so he could live with me… I found grandma on a shelf in the hall closet.

As I tossed the still unopened final cardboard box in to one of the big moving boxes, I realized this was now my problem to deal with.

By the time I was closing down my dad’s apartment, we all knew his cancer was terminal. My only uncle and aunt came down from Canada to visit my dad one last time. Right before they came, my dad had a really bad reaction to one of the medications so he was in the hospital to be stabilized. The four of us (five really if you count a 21 month old Elizabeth) were sitting around in my dad’s hospital room. He was dozing off and I was struggling to make conversation with my uncle. If you count that visit and my dad’s subsequent funeral, I’ve only seen them five times in my whole entire life. After awhile it gets hard to make idle chit-chat with someone you don’t know. But then I had a stroke of genius… I decided to ask them what to do with my grandma. It’s was his mother after all.

I told them that I had grandma in my closet and I didn’t know what to do with her. I explained about the change in policy at Columbia and how this brown box just showed up one day.

They looked at me with blank faces. Then they looked at each other, faces still blank. We all sat silent for several minutes.

“Well,” my uncle said slowly, “we live next door to a cemetery. Maybe we could take her home and dump on the cemetery property.”

“No,” my aunt said. “That’s against the law.”

“To bad.” I said. “I was thinking about taking her to Grandpa’s plot on dumping her there. But all I know is he was buried in Queens. Do you know where he is?”

“Nope.” my uncle shook his head. “I don’t remember, besides its illegal.”

We sat silently for a while. We were all shifting in our chairs often.

“Hey,” my aunt said cheerfully, “Miriam always loved tomatoes. I could put her some of my potted tomatoes.” My stomach flopped. My uncle scrunched up his nose. “Hey, it’s just a dead, burned up body. Carbon and ash. That’s all it is.” my aunt was defensive.

“True.” My uncle was shaking his head. “And she did like tomatoes.”

We sat silently for a while longer.

“So, Liz,” my uncle was looking at me. “What do you think of the tomato idea?”

“Ahhh… well, she’s your mother. Obviously my dad can’t weigh in on this decision, so I think it’s up to you.” I had already decided I would never eat a tomato they served.

It was settled. They decided they were going to take Grandma back to Canada with them and put her in their potted tomatoes. But, no. This plan fell apart. You see, this was less than a month after 9/11. I didn’t know where Grandma’s death certificates were. They decided it was too risky to take a cremated body out of the country when security was so high. I didn’t completely understand their logic – I really think they just got cold feet on the tomato idea… but then again, everyone was so paranoid right after 9/11 I guess anything was possible.

So, Grandma is still in my closet. She has moved with me five times since she came to live with me. I still don’t know what to do with her. At least she’s not a demanding guest.