RIP PART ONE (1)

My son's remains are in a small urn about the size of a shot glass. It is a nice heavy peyter with his name and deliver date engraved on it: TJ Persons / February 5, 2005. From the day we ordered it I was worried that he wouldn't fit. When we sat with the mortician and worked through the paperwork and signed all the legal forms required by the state in order to cremate a loved one I asked if that urn would be big enough. "I am worried," I said. "I guarantee that the remains of your son will fit in an urn that size." I looked at him closely. I studied his eyes. My father was a mortician for nearly 30 years. I know how these guys work. But I trusted this guy. His eyes were real, sincere. "It's so small," I said. "I guarantee it," he assured. "Can I get it engraved?" I asked. "Absolutely. Wouldn't have it any other way," he said. We shook hands. "Sold."

It has been an age old issue. Some would consider it a problem. In fact entire cities have been created to accommodate the nagging reality of storing our dead. What do we do with everyone? My wife and I have been dealt a hand that demands an answer. When TJ died, we needed to come up with a plan. Now, after two years, we finally have one.

Stay tuned for PART TWO (2) in which I discuss various new and old traditions of handling our loved ones, and I may get to sharing what our plan is.