A Very Niche Post

 

At Ikea, they have all sorts of bookshelves.  They have the Billy bookshelf, the Hemnes, and a bunch of other Swedish names that my son has made into countless puns - I'm so proud.  Out of the variety of bookshelves that Ikea offers, my personal fav is the Kallax.  I cannot express how much I love these things.  We have several around the house - a giant one where we put boardgames, four smaller ones in various rooms that we actually use as bookshelves, and also for DOOM boxes and office supply storage. Love it, love it, love it.  It's so versatile!  

About 10 years ago, when my Mom was still with us and doing her own OCD estate planning thing (which I am extremely grateful for), she called me and demanded that I absolutely must come over to her house and that we were going to go see where she wanted to be buried.  

You're probably asking yourself what the heck does a bookshelf have to do with estate planning.  I promise I'll get there.  Now, where was I?

My Mom, bless her heart, was a planner.  Things had to be done her way or you would be in serious trouble.  If I cleaned my room and there was the tiniest piece of fuzz on the floor, she wouldn't use a chancla.  She was old school.  She'd just smack me upside the head.  OR, if I was really "bad" she would grab the hair at the nape of my neck - you know, those short little wispy baby hairs? Yeah, she'd grab those and pull until she thought I was back in line (which, seriously, I know I was undiagnosed Autistic ADHD, but still - I was on academic teams and a well-rounded nerd. I was an angel compared to quite a few other kids.).  

So, here I am, she's telling me that she wants to take me to where she wants to be buried and my first thought is a fight or flight reaction.  Do I really want to go with this woman to see her final resting place? Is this a trap?   Let me remind you that she is TELLING me that I'm going.  My presence has been demanded.  No ands, ifs, or buts about it.  My anxiety (which I didn't know that I had at the time) spikes and I'm thinking "Are we going because she wants me to go first?"  

Insert Admiral Ackbar floating into my thoughts. 

Nope, I am not going to show this woman any fear.  I open my mouth and say... 

"Ya know, Mom, I'm kinda busy and today is not really gonna work for me...."

"Jessica," (which actually sounded more like Yes-see-cah because she had an accent because she was from Panama) she cuts me off. "You will be here in an hour.  I will take you to lunch afterwards."

I am suddenly petrified.  

"You need to see my niche,"  she said matter-of-factly.  

What the fuck is a niche? My mind scrambles.  I'm not going to ask her what she is talking about, I'm going to try and infer from context and decide it's better for my mental well being if I just go along with whatever she has planned.  I shall not be incurring her wrath today.  "Okay, Mom.  I'll be over in a few."  I'm thinking worst case scenario I get a free lunch out and about and I'll see this niche thing she's talking about.

A short while later, my Mom is driving us up the main road that leads toward the mall and I instantly know where she's going.  She was headed for what I liked to call the "bougie" cemetary.  This cemetary is more like a park.  There are no real headstones, there are a few plaques, a few above ground crypts and a couple of mausoleums.  The grounds are mediculously cared for and far nicer than any golf course I've ever seen.  It makes absolute sense that my mom would choose to be buried at the bougie cemetary.  

We get to the office and are greeted in the most gentle and some what pitying way possible.  The guy's "hello," and follow up "how can I help you today" came out with undertones of "someone you care about must have just died and we're so sorry for your loss."  It was followed by a grim smile - you know the kind where you just slightly turn the corners of your mouth up, but your lips are firmly pressed together in a line. 

"I want to show my daughter my niche and I want her to see my urn.  Is it in yet?"

Wait, what?  Urn? No one said anything about an urn.  I heard niche but there was no talk of an urn.   It wasn't necessarily a surprise, because like I said, my Mom was known for planning everything out.  It made sense in my brain that she already had an urn picked out, but already ordered?!  I felt ambushed into possibly having to have a conversation with her that I was not prepared for.  

The cemetary guy, still being somewhat creepy, gets a little too excited and ushers us into an office where we sit down and he gets on his computer.  I'm looking around the room and see picttures of caskets, samples of coffin linings, a map of the "memorial gardens," a list of services that include pet creamation that has their own special little area with a small park (pet friendly!) fountain.  I had to admit, I was kind of impressed and definitely "bougie."   I'm just keeping in my head as my Mom talks to the guy and he pulls out her "contract" to see what stuff she had and he starts talking about "ah, yes, the niche, blah blah blah." He goes on and tells her, rather proudly, that it's in their newly expanded section of the main chapel, a great location, and the urn is already placed inside of it so we will be able to get a picture of how things will potentially look in the niche.  

Color me confused.  I look at the contract that they had pulled out of this giant filing cabinet and it was in that moment that I fully understood that my Mom had pre-planned her whole funeral.  Right down to the music (which she asked me to make a CD of the specific songs for her to take to the funeral home in preparation of the "big day.").  She spent $4000 to be creamated, put in an urn which would be placed in a niche. 

"Jessica!"  My mom says excitedly.  "My urn is pink!"  She says it with such glee!  I honestly don't think I had ever heard her say anything with that excited of a tone.  It was a combination of childlike excitement and mischief.  

The guy gets up and tells us that we can follow him to the main chapel to see the niche and we walk out to the car.  I'm super quiet and probably overstimulated and my Mom has the biggest grin on her face.  The drive to the main chapel was less than a minute, but during that time she started telling me about the pink urn she picked out, how she loves it and, it's so beautiful.  I can only sit there quietly with what was probably a very confused or concerned look on my face. 

We parked the car and walked into the chapel and I'm even more confused when the manager walks us over to the back where the walls were lined with Kallax-style shelving, each with a glass window covering it so you couldn't just reach in, take an urn and walk away.   Some of the shelves have urns and pictures and there were even flowers from a recent funeral next to one.   The guy stops in front of one of the cubbies.  This particular cubby has a salmon-pink urn with some flowers on it.  This pink urn looked so much like something that my Mom would just have lying around her house with nick-nacks or maybe even some candy stuffed inside it.   I'm standing there, my brain screaming at me to behave, stay solemn, and have some respect for the moment, but my as-yet undiagnosed AuDHD brain says nope!

We have finally figured out what a "niche" is and I promptly said "You paid $4000 for a bookshelf? It's a bookshelf.  You bought a death bookshelf."  I wanted to call it a cubby hole, but my brain blanked in the moment and death bookshelf was the first thing that came to mind.  

The guy looked slightly horrified.  My mom kind of smacked me gently on the arm and proceeded to do the whole "Ay Yes-see-kah!" thing to me.  "They're called niches,"  she says to me.  And then she started laughing.  Hard.  The manager excused himself and my mom managed to get the words thank you out in between the giggles.   

Because humor lets me cope with difficult things, I didn't let up on harassing her about buying and choosing her final resting place to be a glorified "death bookshelf."  I couldn't not laugh at the situation and my mom, once it clicked in her head at the absurdity of it all, wouldn't stop laughing.  After a brief stop at the restroom, we got in the car and drove to my Mom's favorite Mexican restaurant and had lunch.   I got death bookshelf tacos.  It was awesome.  

So there you have it, a niche, you can tell your friends, is a death bookshelf.