She came down on Sunday night (I think?) before he died to help me and be with me.
She became me as I handed over my identity for a few days as she called people while I just tried to just exist.
And as always with my dear friend Cecilia, we had some funny moments that week.
The one that has us rolling in laughter a couple of weekends ago was one particular moment at the funeral home.
It was already quite a strange place.
They had about seven, maybe more, exactly the same shaped sofas that had the exact same ugly mauve floral fabric on them.
Something that would have been popular maybe in the eighties.
I had to laugh at how many of these sofas they had.
They were everywhere we looked.
In the front of the funeral home, they had a curio cabinet full of ceramic dogs.
I found this very odd and amusing.
Until I realized they were very pet ashes.
In the meeting with the funeral director, he had so many death impulse buys and gimmick items.
Paperweights with lights for the ashes.
Odd, odd things.
Roger's middle name, like a lot of Hispanic males, was "Jesus."
It is pronounced in the traditional Spanish way. With an "h" sound instead of a "j".
The funeral director asks me for my husband's full name.
I give him his first with spelling.
He asks for his middle.
I say "Jesus" in the English way to aide this very WASP guy.
"What was his middle name?"
I repeat it.
I say it louder.
"Jesus. J-E-S-U-S as in Jesus."
The funeral director says "Oh okay. I am just hard of hearing."
Except I never had to repeat myself for the rest of the time.
Was it really that hard to believe someone was named "Jesus"?
Especially a Hispanic male?
After we left, we all laughed.
"Jesus as in Jesus."
It still makes me smile.
A very shitty shitty day but at least I could laugh and smile.