Starting around Tuesday, I began to feel better. Wednesday was bad. Yesterday and today were pretty good. I'm starting to get to the point where I remember her fondly, instead of remembering that she's no longer with me.
Yesterday the vet called and, due to a mix-up, told me that they had her ashes ready for me to pick up. I didn't even choke, though I could tell that the assistant calling was walking on eggshells a bit (Robin -- you're the sweetest!). After talking with Mrs. Warhoon we had them dispose of the ashes through their contractor.
I miss her terribly, but I'm not particularly attached to her remains. I was the same way with Burton. The remains are nothing without the life inside. I think hanging on to containers with your loved ones' oxidized flesh in them is a bit... morbid.
But that's just me. I think open casket funerals are morbid, too, unlike most of my fellow modern Americans apparently. My grandmother died years ago and the first image I have to fight past when I think of her is her lifeless body lying in that casket. I've been to funerals where people took photographs of the open casket. Weird.
But everyone's different. And that's definitely a Good Thing.
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