Until this past Sunday, I never looked at Bangsiri’s ashes. I never even took the urn out of its cardboard box.
When I picked up her ashes from the animal hospital, I wrapped the cardboard box in the same plaid blanket that the vet had used to wrap her body before sending her to the crematorium. (Her pink blanket was dirty that day, or I would have brought it with us to the hospital.) I don’t have a special place to display the urn; the cats would knock it over. For a whole month she was on the bottom shelf in a cabinet along with my books. I put pictures of her on the cabinet door and told her I loved her every day.
On Sunday I took Bangsiri’s urn out of the cardboard box and opened it. It’s a pink ceramic urn with an orangey earthenware urn inside. Inside this smaller urn is a piece of folded white paper with Bangsiri’s ashes inside. I chose the “memorial stone” option, so the crematorium turned her ashes into stones instead of powder. There were only seven stones in the folded piece of paper, and they were tiny. I couldn’t believe how little there was left of her.
I decided to move her urn to a pink carrier, where she’s resting next to her grey sling. Bangsiri and I used many carriers during our time together, but the grey sling is from our final week together. The sling and the plaid blanket provide some padding for the urn, and the pink carrier is on a low shelf closer to my bed. On the carrier there’s a picture of a bunny with a heart inside a speech bubble. This is what the bunny is saying:
“I’m always thinking of you. Your brown eyes, bright smile and pretty voice. It makes me happy.”