My Sister Sashes

That's what the title looks like in this blog's URL without the spaces or the apostrophe in "sister's." But it works. Sometimes, things work like that. The Michigan town of Novi, now home to one of the state's largest malls -- in fact, the whole town is one big mall -- was originally stop number six on a local stagecoach route. On the route's timetable, it was noted as "No. VI." 

"Sister Sashes" is equally useful. It gives me something to call Sis that isn't her real name, or "my female sibling," "the bitch," "the cunt," or "the cat lady who died with $12,000 in cash stuffed inside a shoebox in her bedroom closet." 

Now that the full story of  Sashes' memorial service has been told, it's time to back up to the beginning. To last November 30, a Thursday, one day after her 59th birthday. 

I was up bright and early as usual, 11 AM, and heard a knock at the door. Before I could answer, whomever it was had left. There was, however, a Fed Ex envelope inside the door. 

I had no idea who might be FedExing me. I ruled out the local draft board, the Publishers Clearinghouse contest, or any of the middle-aged cunts I once allowed into my life inquiring re how I'm doing and do you think we could have coffee and a Timmie's some day? 

Quickly opening the envelope -- this was before package bombs started appearing on porches in Austin, Texas -- revealed the answer. Sashes had passed, two and a half months ago. Not unexpected when I think of how she abused her body with cigarettes and alcohol, but still a bolt out of the clear blue. It finally happened. She never was much of a swingin' hip chick -- although she considered herself one -- but now she was really gone. 

The radio was playing a Springsteen song I like, that I hadn't heard in a while. I turned it up. When it ended, I put on a coat and went outside to see if the mail had come yet (it hadn't), came back inside, and poured a cup of orange juice. 

She's really, finally, gone.

What happened to the cats? The dog she had 12 years ago, the last time I saw her? Are there still cartons of empty beer bottles stacked like firewood in the garage? I'd have to rent a U-Haul to get them to the store, but cashing in her empties would still cover expenses on a drive  to Flint and back. 

And what happened to the stuff? My grandmother's curio cabinet that I wanted when she died, that Sashes, it was determined, needed more than I did? My grandmother's old dining room table and chairs, and Sashes' new ones, that I can use right now? The big Kenwood home theater setup she had downstairs in the family room, that I helped her pick out at Ollie Fretter's (remember him?) an eternity ago? Her half of my dad's coin collection, including the two $20 gold pieces? Since she died per family tradition (Mother also exited this way) without a will and, since there are no other siblings and both parents are deceased, I get everything. How much did she have in the bank? What's the house worth? How about her 401Ks?

The stuff, like Sashes, I'm slowly finding out, is also really gone. 

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