At home, again

This is the urn Seamus made for Jerry's ashes - a true work of art and love, incorporating wood veneers that Jerry collected over the decades and kept, meaning to do who knows what with them someday.

The design under his name on the front is from a sketch of my first (and until a couple of weeks ago, only) tattoo that Seamus made while we sat by Jerry's bed in his final days at home - Jerry had done the original sketch, on a napkin while he and I had breakfast out at a local restaurant on a cold February day a few years ago, of my vague ideas for what became that tattoo.  It's the ascending and descending notes of the major scale in the four shapes used in the Sacred Harp, intertwined with a vine.  "The Child of Grace," on the lid, is the title of the song in the book most associated with Jerry by singers who, over many years, sang the song with him leading it - he called it his "Sunday song," and would lead it on the Sunday of a convention.  In a lot of places where we sang, if it was a Sunday and the song hadn't already been used that day and Jerry was called to lead, people would already be turning to page 77 before he called his song.  (That's what the 77 on the lid is - the page number for "The Child of Grace.")

The urn is in my bedroom now.  What is left of my husband's body is in the urn.  It's all very, very surreal.

And I have his work boots.  Originally, earlier in the week, when I noticed them by his desk at work, and Seamus asked if I wanted them, I said no.  And then I was sorry I'd said that, and then today I noticed they were still in the office, and I asked Seamus if it was okay if I took them after all, and he said yes.  They're breaking my heart, but then again, so is everything else these days.  You'd think a heart that had already cracked into pieces couldn't be cracked anymore, but every day just shows that it can, many many times over.