If you’ve ever lost someone very close to you or were the person “in charge” of the funeral, you’ve been given the white bag.
My white bag sits on the kitchen table. It really hasn’t moved anywhere in the last 5 weeks. I’ve looked in the white bag for others, but have never gone through the bag. I should put it in her room out of sight, but it’s like some kind of reminder that I have in my line of sight at all times. If I put it away, it will feel like the ceremonial stuff has come to an official end.
I’m scared to touch the bag for fear I may see some of the things in it. See, I know from past experiences what it contains. Only this time there are “other” things. An audio of the service, the video of her through the years that was shown, the nail polish I used to paint her nails, her dragonfly belly button ring, and a piece of her hair I cut to save. Just typing these things out makes me sob. (This is theraputic they say)
A few things have been added to the bag since I brought it home. The death certificate, which I won’t bring myself to look at any time soon and thumb print necklaces we had made. There’s one for me and Madelyn. My mom has her’s, too. When I get strong enough to open those, I will post a picture. I thought I’d want it right away so I could feel close to her, but that’s not how it’s been at all.
I’ve been handed enough white bags in my life, and I don’t ever want to be given another one. Never!