We all have to-do lists. For me, it keeps me somewhat organized:  running a business, doing advocacy work, getting ready for the holidays, throwing surprise parties, etc. But there are those items that are super hard. Like, I don’t wanna hard. And FYI, there are some details in this you may not want to read if you are sensitive. Not many and not graphic, but being one who is sensitive to things, trying to be empathetic to others.

When Jesse and Bella died, there were so many things that needed to be done, most of them immediately.  There is a list that would take forever to read, but some of the most pressing things when someone dies is what to do with the bodies. Because it was a murder suicide, there had to be autopsies. I honestly thought it was poison at first, only because I did not see the gun. So when the coroner called that Saturday, or maybe it was Friday, and told me it was a gun, I was floored.  I knew he had one, but I never thought. I never thought a lot of things that were proven wrong though. We all never thought.

Again, so many decisions, and luckily (and gratefully) I had so much help.  My family that was local helped pick out a funeral home, which Jess and Bells went to from the coroner. From there, do you want a burial? Cremation? Do you want to do a cemetery thing? Wakes? Urn choices? Going there, sitting down to pick out an urn for your husband and four year old?!  WTF. His, easy. Now sitting in my garage because it is empty. Apparently, you take used urns to Goodwill? hmph. Anyways, hers, that was not so easy.  But we did, and it is on my bookshelf.  I can’t imagine letting go of her, it’s all I have left of her physically.  That and the braids they gave me of her hair.

As you can gather, I cremated them.  We did a family viewing, no wake. We went at separate times. I can’t even on that. I was given a pamphlet at some point. It was by Legacy Touch. The director of the funeral home, explained to me that they took Maribella’s fingerprints, and that if I wanted something made from them, they could do that, like a charm, pendant, etc. I tucked it away amongst all the other “death paperwork” I was collecting.

I thought about it on and off for the last four and a half years.

And I just couldn’t.

And then I panicked. What if there is a time limit to how long they keep these kinds of things? This is not a Google-able search by the way.

And then I just couldn’t again.

It was on this list, this “I don’t want to.” I didn’t want to write and find out that they didn’t have them. I didn’t want to write to find out they did and then what, hey, can you make a charm with my dead daughters fingerprint please? Well, yes, that is what I would do. When is one ready? Never? It’s something you want and don’t. So I didn’t some more.

Until today. I pulled up the funeral directors email from that time.  The one I responded to was when she wrote and told me their remains were ready. Yeah, fun times. Anyways, I finally wrote that question, those five words. Do you still have them? I waited. That pit in my stomach showing up in full force. And then I saw it, her response came back. I sat and stared at the computer, willing the email to open up and transmit it its contents to my brains. But alas, we are not there yet with technology. The long and short of it is yes, they still have them.

I breathed a somewhat sigh of relief. I did some other things, that pit still present. I looked at the brochure, wondering, how? How can I?  I went on the website, perusing these “keepsakes” of ones loved ones. You can get something with their fingerprint or DNA. I picked a heart charm to go with the necklace I have with her name on it. Then it asked for the unique code for your loved one.

A unique fucking code. I get it. But damn. My daughters life, her fingerprint, her “code.” Our fingerprints are a code of sorts. The irony is not lost. Someone thought they were being clever. She is not a unique code, she was my baby I yell at the computer. After a moment and the computer just sitting there, screen staring back at me with no response to yet another of one of my emotional outbursts, I take a deep breath. I email the funeral director back and say I need this code.

And the response, here is your code.

I can’t even.