Ashes to Water

Bob was set free from his gilded cage a year ago. 

You might recall, as I was doing my best to follow the requests he'd outlined in his will for how he wanted his death to be commemorated, I took some palm branches he'd once blessed and turned them to ash, so I could scatter them in the lake he lived next to, in the only home he'd ever owned, as he'd asked. (He wanted his real ashes scattered, but per the rules of the church, such was not one of my options, so this was the closest I could come.)

I took the ashes, tucked into the Salvadoran water jug he'd loved so well, to his funeral services, with all good intention of getting up to Lake Viking shortly thereafter to place them in the water. But, once all the dust had settled, I somehow never found the three hours I'd need to complete my task.

The jug has found a lovely home in the corner of my dining room, and I have taken comfort this past year in walking past and placing my hand on it for a few minutes, connecting to his symbolic presence.

As winter has turned to spring, I started to feel a tug. It was time to finish my task.

So, this past Sunday, a lovely spring day, I retrieved the ashes from their temporary home, and Bob's friend John and I climbed into my car to drive on up to the lake. We pulled up in the drive of Cory and Elaine's house (his good friends, across the street, who had let him keep his boat in a slip on their dock the entire time he lived there), stepped out into the cool quiet of the morning, and made our way down onto the corner of their dock.

We sat down. John said a prayer of letting go. I sang a final song of goodbye as I opened the pouch, took out the small bag of ashes, and carefully freed them just underneath the surface of the water.

We sat in silence for a long moment. I listened to the call of the geese standing on a dock a few doors down, watched them slip into the water, one elegant, the other awkwardly splashing off the platform. I felt the sun warm on my shoulders, saw its light glistening on the wavelets. I let the cold lake water dry on my fingertips without trying to wipe it off.

Time stopped for a bit as I watched a stream of ashes make their way from the corner of the dock out into the center of the channel, as if seeking the freedom of the open water just down the way.

Promise kept, I wept.