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Joe, in the interest of giving Barry some autonomy after his mother's death, gave Barry decisions and options when organizing Nora Allen's funeral. Of course, being Nora's last relative, Barry should obviously have a say. Was a sentiment not shared by many. Many people mistake making decisions for you that they should never make as "taking the weight off". The truth is, it's his mother, it's his weight to carry. No one can take that from him, they could die trying.
So, when Joe asked him how he'd like his mothers remains to be handled—this was something left out of her will, maybe she forgot, maybe she didn't care, all Barry knew is he'd never be able to ask her—he made a decision that surprised everyone.
Cremation. A golden urn with a plastic bag inside filled with ash.
He made this decision for many reasons. Some he said out loud, some he didn't but all true in their own right. The most obvious being Nora's love for travel. It'd be a crime to pin her down anywhere. The one he never said out loud is that, he didn't want to get in a screaming match with Joe when it came to inscribing her name. Would she be allowed to keep the Allen name? Or would Joe replace it with her maiden name? He could never face her grave with a false name.
Nora Allen's urn moved many places as Barry grew up. His bedroom, the living room, the kitchen, the dining room, his college dorm, back to Joe's place and then finally, his apartment.
He found a trapezium shaped table at a thrift store and set it against one of the thin empty walls of his apartment. He stole a spare chair from the CCPD and scooted it under the table. His mother's urn sat front and center.
Over time, items collected. Things that reminded him of her, things he just thought looked nice. And two cups.
He'd boil hot water, take two tea bags and set the cups down on Mom's table. Once he's done pouring and the smell of floral tea wafted through the air in wisps of steam. Barry would talk to her.
It started out as a small habit when he was younger. Which then evolved into what it is now.
"Morning, Mom." The liquid in their cups sloshed as he planted his arms down to scrape the chair in. "It's finally happening! The particle acclerator. Tonight."
He smiled. "Me and Iris are going. She wants me to translate all the 'scientific gibberish'." Barry leaned in conspiritoriously, "Don't tell her this but I think she's right. They definitely play up the jargon to make it sound more scientific."
"Yeah! It's ridiculous. It's already a crazy scientific breakthrough. No need to play it up." Barry knew his mother wasn't alive and certainly was not replying. Barry also knew that if anyone else witnessed this habit of his, they'd probably think he's crazy.
It was simply a comfort. To talk to someone. To talk to her. It wasn't the same, it'd never be the same but it was enough.
Besides, he remembers—from the only therapist he ever thought had any good things to say—that getting all of your thoughts and feelings out was important. The importance of talking to someone. Barry had no interest in going to another therapist. And there were some things not even his dad or Joe or Iris would understand.
The one person Barry was always one hundred percent honest with was his mother. So he talked to her urn. In hopes she was listening. In hopes that he could close his eyes for just a moment and he could tell himself that she was there. Her warm hands cupped with his, the smell of her floral tea-like perfume wafting over him…
Barry is so caught up talking to his mother about the particle accelerator that he jumps when his phone blares.
'SUPER EXTRA LATE!!! RUN!!!' His phone alarm reads in bold letters.
"Shit! Shit, shit shit." He scoops up their drinks, now cold, and dumps them in the sink. Barry snatches his bag up and fixes his jacket over his shoulders. "Love you, Mom! Bye!"
As he's running out of the door Barry sees a notification from Joe—There's been a shooting and where the hell is he? Oh, he is so getting fired.