Home is where the hard is

In ancient Egypt, tombs were a necessary part of the culture to prepare the dead for living in the afterlife.  Depending on how rich you were they could be very well-appointed indeed, stocked with your possessions to ensure a comfortable existence in the next world.

The earliest tombs were actually houses – which made it uber-convenient since there was not all that bother of having to pack and move everything over to the pyramid – they just sealed up your house around you. So what might you find in a Pharoah’s tomb?  Well, for some lucky buggers, it could be a solid gold sarcophagus. They also did not think the brain was important (so ahead of their time) and so discarded it. Food, clothes, games and weapons were all de rigueur.

I  know we are not supposed to think “things” are important, but they often are. My husband had embarked on many kooky collections before he died.  One was collecting small wooden cat statues.  He never paid much for them but he liked them. They are perched on a small table in my living room along with some of his ashes, and give me some comfort.

People have asked if I plan to remain here in our house since his passing.  It is a bit large just for me and two cats, but frankly with its bittersweet memories, I don’t know where else I would go.  Sometimes it does feel like a well-appointed coffin, with all of our material memories closing in around me, almost mocking me with what was.

But other times it just feels like home.