ETHEL 2012
Ethel sat across the small table, eating cornflakes and
talking to Haddieโs urn, which now sat where Haddieโs food
used to. A few months ago, Ethel had found the urn to be a
bit impersonal, and so she had drawn a face on it with a
Sharpie marker and tied several lengths of black yarn to
the lid as a makeshift wig. Recently, she had acquired a
hand-knitted wine bottle cozy that she fashioned into a
stocking cap for the urn. After all, it was beginning to
get cold outside.
โAre you ready to go to camp today?โ she asked the urn.
Adjusting to Haddieโs absence after sixty years had been
unfathomableโso unfathomable, in fact, that Ethel hadnโt
adjusted to it.
There had been several traumatizing moments associated with
the passing of Haddie: the moment Ethel realized what was
happening and that she could lose her, the moment she had
to tear herself away from Haddieโs pleading eyes and tight
grasp to make the phone call Ethel had hoped would save
Haddieโs life, then returning to Haddieโs lifeless body
after the call, knowing she had abandoned her best friend
and companion during her final moments of life. And then
there had been that moment Ethel had picked up Haddieโs urn
from the funeral parlor.
โI can do this, I can do this. Sheโs not in here, sheโs not
in here, sheโs not in here, sheโs not in hereโฆ,โ Ethel had
quietly whispered to herself as she walked into the funeral
parlor. She had settled the final bill and then was handed
this urn. It was much heavier than she had expected, and
although that caught her off guard, it seemed appropriate
that the weight of her loss should be so great.
In the days prior to picking up the urn she had imagined
Haddie in heaven, but after Ethel held what remained of
Haddie in her hands, the physicality of ashes began to seem
more and more real than spirit. It wasnโt instant. As she
walked out of the funeral parlor on that day, she was still
repeating, โThis isnโt her, this isnโt her, this isnโt her,
this isnโt her.โ
Ethel had paused on the sidewalk for a moment and looked at
the world around her, this world that had never understood
the love Haddie and she had shared, this world that had at
times been so unkind. Was she really supposed to plan a
memorial service and invite to it people like Haddieโs
religious familyโpeople who had no idea who Haddie really
was? People who would have called her a sinner and banished
her if they had? A feeling washed over Ethel, something she
hadnโt felt with that intensity since they were youngโthat
feeling like it was Haddie and she against the world. She
gripped the urn tighter and slipped into the safety of her
car, where she placed the urn gently on the passenger seat.
As she drove down the road, she found her hand resting on
the urn as if it were Haddieโs leg, only significantly
colder and harder. Maybe that had been the turning point in
Ethelโs attachment to the urnโthat moment that had simply
allowed Ethel the comfort of habit.
Now, almost a year later, Ethel chatted at the urn across
the table from her while she ate her cereal and made a list
of things to remember. โOh yes, good thinking,โ she said to
the urn when a new idea popped into her head. She continued
to talk to the urn while she washed her dishes and while
she packed her things, and then she tucked it into her coat
and headed out the back door.
Crunchy vine maple leaves littered the brick stairs from
the cabin down to the lake. As Ethel descended the steps,
she dragged her old green army surplus duffel bag behind
her. Everything she could possibly need fit into it. A
couple of times, it picked up speed, so that she had to
step aside and let it go. After it hit a tree and stopped,
Ethel resumed dragging it down to the dock. On her hands
and knees, she rolled the duffel bag into the canoe and set
Haddieโs urn comfortably on top. Then Ethel made four more
trips back up for jugs of water.
Ethel loved this charming cabin Haddie and she had shared
since they had retired. It was just two miles down the
south shore from Camp Firelight, which had been their home
for over forty years. Although significantly quieter, it
had still felt like home. Almost every morning they had
kayaked past camp as if they were its guardians, which was
exactly how they had felt.
On this day, since she had such a large load, Ethel took
the canoe instead of her kayak. She sat on the dock and
gently eased herself onto the seat. It was the first time
she could remember taking the canoe out all by herself. It
felt so empty without Haddie in it.
As Ethel paddled down the south shore, she wondered if
anyone would show up at all. Sheโd always thought camp was
important to many people, but maybe she was wrong. After
all, had it really been that important, it wouldnโt be
going defunct. Maybe she would be all by herself out there
this week. Sometimes she liked having camp all to herself,
but under these circumstances it would be like having a
funeral for someone she cherished and having no one else
come. She looked at the urn. Yes, it would be just like
that. There was comfort in being in the presence of others
who knew what was lost. She couldnโt bear to go through
another loss without that.
When she paddled around a little point, she saw her
neighbor, Walt, floating in a cove in his rowboat. It was
hard to miss his red plaid wool coat and matching cap with
earflaps. He was around her age and had lost his wife about
a year before she had lost Haddie, and something about just
seeing him was a comfort to Ethelโperhaps that he was proof
a person could somehow endure this heartbreak, or perhaps
that he was proof she wasnโt as alone as she felt most of
the time. She saw him fishing on every calm day like this
one. On most days the lake was windy chop and on those days
he often didnโt bother, but these calm days were not to be
taken for granted. He missed not a one.
She paddled right up to him. โGood morning, Walt. Any
luck?โ
He held up two perch. โDinner is served.โ
โWell done, sir,โ she replied.
โYou look like you and Haddie are going somewhere.โ He was
the only person who knew about Ethelโs attachment to the
urn. The first time he saw it, she knew it needed
explanation and, since he had recently gone through the
same thing, she knew he would understand rather than judge
her.
โWeโre off to close up camp. Theyโre shutting it down for
good.โ
โNo,โ Walt said.
โI know. I canโt believe it either.โ
โIt seems like just yesterday I was twelve and getting
pelted by the mud balls you Firelight Girls threw at us
whenever weโd sneak out of the Boy Scouts camp and try to
raid.โ
Ethel smiled as she remembered making mud balls.
For a moment, both of them were silent. Then he asked, โHow
long will you be there?โ
โA week.โ
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