26 Days: Death, Dying, and a Clusterf&*k of a Time

(This blog was established 10 years ago so I could write about whatever I wanted. I stopped writing in May of 2010,when life got too crazy and I didn't feel like writing anymore. I called this blog "Somewhere You Feel Free," a line in the Tom Petty song, "Wildflowers." I wanted my blog to be a place where I could write freely. I'm ready to start writing again...so here we go.)

My father's ashes were interred in a niche in Hillside Memorial Park, just down the hall from his beloved Jack Benny, 26 days after he died from a recurrence of renal cancer.

Now, my family is Jewish. I come from a world where we bury the dead quickly and are comforted by lox and bagels and loved ones. But my dad made a decision long ago that he wanted to be cremated and interred in Los Angeles. Ok, fine. But why did it take 26 days?

THE BACKGROUND

When my father made the decision to begin hospice care--this happened three months before his death, in Eisenhower Medical Center in Ranch Mirage, California--we knew he'd be spending his last weeks in California instead of his apartment in Chevy Chase, Maryland. When the doctor left his room, my dad looked at me, and his first words were: 

"I want you to go online to Costco and buy an urn."

And the first words out of my mouth were:

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

But, really, Costco does sell urns. They sell caskets, too. In fact, you could order an urn, a washer and dryer set, and new tires for your car, all in just a few minutes.

So, I dutifully went online and bought him an urn: a box with the Navy seal on it, since he had served honorably and, frankly, the other urns were either too religious or really, really hideous.

Okay, so I ordered the urn. I had it delivered to my office. My boss was stunned when he walked into my office and saw a box marked "Memorial Products," but that's another story.

Next, my dad said, "I bought a niche at Hillside." 

So I called Hillside Memorial Park, which is located near the airport in Los Angeles, confirmed that he had a niche, and wrote down any relevant information I'd need.

Then, he said, "Call Desert Cremations and arrange for me to be cremated."

I went online but couldn't find anyplace called Desert Cremations. There was Desert Memorial Cremation and Burial, High Desert Cremations, even Desert Rose Heather Cremation and Burial. So, I did what any responsible adult would do. I went onto Yelp.

The only place I could find that wasn't associated with a funeral home was Smart Cremations. It got 3 1/2 stars on Yelp. The reviews, as you can imagine, were mixed:

"This is an incredible helpful service. They make things much easier for someone who has probably just experienced losing a loved one. Their staff is quite understanding, kind, and were on top of everything throughout the whole process. I appreciate their service, especially considering the nature of their business. I would recommend using this service to anyone."

"I am relieved to know that our loved one was in such capable hands."

And then there were a couple like this:

"When I called [them] back i was told it was a very busy time and that she (the person in charge of my moms case) had been sick with the flu and her son had gotten it and she was doing the best she could. I apologized for my mom dying at a busy time and that her son had the flu but my mom was dead..........ended up having to deal with a supervisor who finally got things handled and almost a month after mom had passed we finally got her ashes delivered by a gentleman who knocked on the door, handed my sister the ashes and walked away."

But look, there aren't many choices...and they had good reviews, too...and I know that people who would write a Yelp review for a cremation service likely had a larger problem and they probably weren't the norm...blah..blah...blah...so I called Smart Cremations. They sent a salesperson out to see a me a couple of days later.

Roman (whose job title, no joke, is "Smart Representative"), came to see me at work. After a slide show, which featured a photo of the cremation oven so I could see that only one person could be cremated at a time in each one, I'd had enough. 

"Look," I said, quoting Julia Roberts in "Pretty Woman," "I'm a sure thing." So we signed the paperwork, I handed over my credit card, and that was it.

Roman said that it would take one-and-a-half to two weeks to get he ashes returned to me. That seemed long, but it also seemed reasonable.

Oh, but there was one glitch: Smart Cremations provided their own, standard urn (note: STANDARD URN), and they wouldn't use the one I had already purchased.

So, back to Costco I went.

I was downright giddy standing in the return line at Costco. I couldn't wait to see the return lady's face when she opened the box.

She did not disappoint.

"Wow," she said. "I've never had someone return one of these. They usually get used, don't they?"

And then she said, "This is the strangest return I've ever done."

THE AFTERMATH

My father passed away peacefully on September 14, 2016. We called Smart Cremations, and they sent a team out to pick up his body.

Before they left, the man with the paperwork said, "It will probably take two to three weeks before you get the ashes returned."

How did we get to three weeks from one-and-a-half to two weeks? Well, it didn't really matter. It was 
DAY 1.

Things were held up a couple of days because a hospice nurse was the one who verified Dad's death, so they needed a coroner to do that. A couple of days became SIX days. That put us on DAY 7.

Look, I am a Jew. I come from a family where people die, are buried, and we sit shiva. This waiting for a week was hard enough. Little did I know there were more weeks to come.

DAY 9. An email from Smart Cremations to my dad's partner, Margaret:

"The death certificate has [been] filed and registered....I have notified the crematory to proceed w/ cremation, [which] will occur in 2-5 working days. Once I receive notification that cremation is complete, the urn will return here to our office in Rancho Mirage. Then our delivery service will contact you to arrange time/date to bring the urn to your residence."

Okay, so this was Friday, September 23. Five working days would put us at the following Friday, September 30. Sixteen days after his death. Okay. We can start talking about a memorial service, right? Great. Let's wait a full week after that so the ashes can be delivered and everyone can get to Los Angeles. So, we settle on Friday, October 7.

DAY 12. I call Hillside Memorial Park, talk to one of their reps, and plan a small, simple service.

DAY 19. I haven't heard from the crematorium yet, so I send an email to the customer service rep:

"Have you received the cremations yet? If not, when do you expect to get them?"

The response:

"The crematory is working on a 4-7 working day schedule right now. Should be anytime now. I will follow up and email you in the AM after I contact them."

This is NOT HELPFUL.

So I write back:

Thank you. We are planning to have a service this Friday, which we chose because it was more than three weeks after his death on Sept. 14.

And then, I receive this message:

DAY 20:

"I [was] just informed by the crematory [that] he will be cremated today." 

ON DAY 20! So, it took 20 days, almost three weeks, for them to cremate my father? What. The. FUCK! They had ONE JOB! One job!

DAY 22: My father's cremains are delivered to Hillside Memorial Park in the (this is important, so take note) standard-sized urn that came with the Smart Cremations contract.

DAY 23:
Thirteen of Dad's family and friends gather at Hillside for a small service. We drive, funeral-procession style, following the hearse (which seemed awfully strange, since it was an urn and not a coffin. Whatever.) up the hill to the mausoleum.

Dad's niche is at the top of a bookcase-like columbarium, anchored to a wall, just down the hall from Jack Benny, which I know my father chose on purpose. 

After I say a few words, my sister recites Psalm 23, and we all read the Mourner's Kaddish, it's time to put the urn into the niche. The cemetery worker gets up on the ladder, which is an aluminum ladder that you'd find in a garage. They couldn't spring for a nice wooden, finished one?

Anyway, the cemetery worker goes to place the urn in the niche, and...

THE URN IS TOO BIG FOR THE NICHE.

I repeat:

THE URN IS TOO BIG FOR THE NICHE.

So, another cemetery worker gets up on the ladder. As my husband and I mumble "Nope. Nope." to ourselves, this guy discovers that, indeed...

THE URN IS TOO BIG FOR THE NICHE.

The woman who is directing things is staring at me with a panicked look on her face. I walk over to her and ask, "What do we do now?" Her response:

"I don't really know what to do."

Again, they had ONE JOB TO DO! One job!

My response:

"Can we get a smaller urn?"

She offers to take me down to the showroom and show me the selection of urns. I ask her to just pick one out and email a photo to me. She assures me that they will transfer my father's cremains at no charge. She also tells me that they measured the niche and the urn and they should have fit...but there is a face plate on the front of the niche. So, clearly, they measured, but not very well. Apparently my [standard-size...this is important] urn that came with the cremation package was too big. 

I leave my father's ashes, in the original urn, in the hands of Hillside Memorial Park, and take my family to lunch. As we are leaving, I joke with the funeral director that at least she has a good funeral story, and she says:

"This is the strangest thing that has ever happened to me."

While at lunch, Hillside's representative calls me to apologize over and over. She says she is going to send me a photo of another urn, and if I approve, they will transfer my father's cremains into it and inter them. But she had another question:

"What should we do with the original urn?"

When I suggest that she dispose of it, she asks:

"Are you sure?"

I ask what she suggests I do with it...and she replies...

"Hold onto it for a future cremation?"

I don't even know how to respond. So I ask them to dispose of it. She asks me to let her know when I've approved the urn, and they can go ahead and transfer the ashes.

We head home.

The funeral director calls me to tell me that the earliest they can do the interment is Monday, because of Shabbat on Saturday and something else on Sunday. So, on Monday morning, DAY 26, my sister, our husbands, and I head back to Hillside.

After spotting a mouse in the reception area, which put the staff into a bit of a tizzy, we get back in the car, where we follow a hearse, with my dad's ashes strapped in the back, up the hill to the mausoleum. It's like a real funeral procession--the hearse is literally driving five miles an hour with the hazard lights on. It's a procession of two cars.

When they opened the back of the hearse and there was a tiny box strapped into the back, my sister and I almost lost it with laughter. They couldn't just hold it on the five-mile-an-hour ride up the hill? But anyway...

So, we went back into the mausoleum and watched through tears as the cemetery worker got back up on the ladder, put my father's ashes into the niche, and closed it up.

And now we wait for the unveiling...which hopefully will be a much simpler process.

I do know that my father was laughing from above during this whole thing. As Erma Bombeck once said:

"There is a thin line that separates laughter and pain, comedy and tragedy, humor and hurt."

I do love that my father is down the hall from Jack Benny though...he was one of his favorites. I'd like to think that there are some hilarious parties up there after the sun goes down.