The Last Picnic

Okay, some of you might find this kind of a sick and twisted story (of course, in a funny way I hope.) So, in advance, I apologize if this offends anyone’s sensibilities.

My parents put a great deal of stock into keeping your word. 

“A man is only as good as his word” was often time quoted in our house. As a matter of fact, it was probably the number one rule (well, maybe neck and neck with never tell a lie.)

But to break a promise was a deadly sin.

My mother NEVER broke her promises. Even if it took some time to keep them.

When my father was diagnosed with cancer he lost his appetite. In order to get him to eat  she promised she would take him on a picnic.

You have to understand what that meant to my father.

He LOVED picnics.

And the way we did picnics was a ‘happening’. Not just going to KFC and grabbing a bucket of chicken. Oh no. Our picnics were extravaganzas.

We would cook and bake for days. Carefully pack the picnic basket. Fill up the Scotch cooler and bring a ton of stadium blankets to spread out on.

We would choose just the right setting, sometimes driving for hours!

It was an all day event!

My father didn’t make it to that picnic.

At least not in the conventional way.

When he died he was cremated, but my mother said she had to fulfill her promise to him before she could bury him.

The weather wasn’t conducive to picnics when he died so she had to wait.

She kept him in the trunk of her car. (I warned you about sick and twisted! LOL)

When spring finally came she packed a picnic basket, grabbed a stadium blanket (and my father) and took him on the promised picnic.

She said they had a lovely time, sipping wine, eating cheese and reminiscing.

She felt she had finally kept her word so she could let him go.

But I have to wonder, what did people think as they saw my mother sitting alone on a blanket in the park, sipping wine and talking to a metal canister!