When You Least Expect It

Last June Jill and I took in the feminine heist movie, Ocean's 8. Not a great film but a fun romp for a rainy Saturday afternoon. The tie-in with the previous Oceans movies was soon made clear. The leader of the gang, Debbie Ocean (Sandra Bullock), is the sister of the dear departed Danny Ocean, played with winking aplomb by George Clooney in Ocean's Eleven, Twelve, and Thirteen. When Debbie is released from prison, she gathers the rest of her merry band of thieving women to carry out the heist she has had years to formulate while serving her sentence. It seems larceny, on the grandest of scales, runs in the family. Like I said, it's a fun romp, and I was taken by surprise with one particular scene that gave my heart a little wrench due to its similarity to my own life. Debbie visits Danny at the mausoleum where he is entombed, pours a martini, and has a chat with him. So. Some of my brother Cullen's ashes are in a canister on a shelf in my sunroom, along with his shot glass collection and photos of him. Often, when en route to the living room from the kitchen with a glass of wine or a beer, I clink my beverage with the canister and say, "cheers!". Sometimes I sit for a moment and have a little conversation with him while I sip my drink. It makes perfect sense to me why Debbie has a drink with Danny. Because nine years after his death, I still have a drink with my brother. There's an odd comfort to this ritual and even more so knowing that someone else has done the same thing. Or maybe just thought it up as a dramatic device for a movie. Either way, maintaining a connection with those we love who have passed is a perfectly normal thing. If you ask me, it's an essential thing.