Seriously. There are five of us, all over the country, so we decided to divvy her up, so she could get a little travel in. My sister and I went to Hobby Lobby and got cute little fruit-label tins (on clearance - Mom would've liked that). But we kept putting off the actual...division, since, well, Mom chunks. (I also kept picturing the bit in Annie Hall with the big pile of cocaine.) Finally, when we could delay no longer, we spread newspaper on the floor, got out the tins, a couple of scoops, and the box-o-remains.

We opened the box. Dun dun DUNNNNNNNNNN.

And found that the mortuary had kindly put her in five separate plastic bags for us.

"Oh, thank Christ!"
"I thought we were gonna have to--"
"INORITE!"
"Oh, thank you Jesus. Hi Mom."
"Hi Mom."
"Poor Mom."
"Yeah. You know, she's in a lot less chunks than Dad was. They've really refined the technique since the Seventies."
"I was just gonna say."
"Really fine grind there."
"Yeah."
We looked at each other. Then we said, simultaneously:
"Oh Mommy you're so fine, you're so fine you blow my mind, hey Mommy! Hey Mommy! Oh Mommy you're so fine, you're so fine you blow my mind, hey Mommy! Hey Mommy!" etc.

In my defense, Dr Coffman had very kindly comped me a packet of antipsychotics for the week.