Armed with proof of life for Dad (am I not the ultimate proof of life? and loss, for that matter?), we headed back to the Funeral Home today to sort out some more paperwork. Nine minutes early in the parking lot it was early enough to be awkward, so we paused to wait. I glanced south and the corner of my eye caught a giant brown creature fly into the trees. A quick drive closer and it was clearly a hawk, likely Swainson’s. He was MASSIVE. It was startling to see such a large predator deep within city limits.
After walking a bit on the branch awkwardly and finally finding his balance, he then fixed his eye squarely on me:
(I’ll have to dedicate a post or two to the ongoing bird motif and its connection to Dad soon…)
After gazing in awe for a few more minutes at the raptor greeting us, it was time to go in. We entered Hainstock’s Funeral Home and Crematorium (even the name sounds gloomy, doesn’t it?). We met a dusty mammoth of a man who led us upstairs through some doors and a long corridor filled with dark rooms to an end dark room which was quite solemn and magnificently furnished. One couldn’t help but immediately spy the tissue box at the center of the table upon walking in, followed by that familiar surreal this-can’tpossibly-be-happening feeling wash over you for the ten thousandth time. We were then led through signing an endless number of indistinguishable documents in the same room Dad had planned his funeral years ago.
As is the case most of the time these days when interacting with the outside world, it all seemed quite grey and blurred, with little meaning and dwarfed by the immense pain from the gaping hole in my heart. A dissociation of sorts, I guess. There was one takeaway from the encounter, however-
The Government of Canada bequeaths a one time $2,500 death “benefit” to a survivor. I guess this is an attempt to offset some of the money ($10,000-$20,000 minimum if you want a funeral) one has to pay to die… And just to dig the knife in a little deeper, the death benefit itself is taxed.
…
About an hour after the appointment, as I was switching Dad’s Toyota Corolla to reverse in the garage, I happened to glance upward to my left and gave a start. It was a poster Dad must have added this spring when he refreshed the posters that hang in the garage. The bird motif continues. A surreal day, indeed.
