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My Mother's Ashes
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Dear community,
I'm writing this email knowing that words will be inadequate to fully describe the richness of my experience. But it's a start.
Last
month, my father, my brother, my sister, and I poured my mother's ashes
into the Gulf of Mexico. Mom passed away in Florida early last year
after an intense battle with cancer. She was cremated and her ashes lay
in a bag inside a little white box in my father's closet until April 1.
On that day we motored out into the Gulf on my father's
friend's boat. Most of the way, the little white box was on the seat
next to me, my hand lightly resting on the top. I felt close to my
mother in a way that I can't ever remember feeling. At times I sensed
that she would smile at the thought of her youngest child, her precious
little boy, accompanying her on this particular journey. Once I felt a
sense of urgency, a panicky tugging in my chest: "We're almost there.
There's very little time left. I will need to say goodbye very soon."
And a deepening gratitude for the life she gave me. And a sharp regret
for things I did and didn't do, times I didn't call, things I didn't
say before she died. And more that escapes me right now. During the
time it took us to go from the shore to our stopping place in the Gulf,
I felt like I lived a lifetime. I was utterly present to every emotion,
every feeling, and every thought, each moment holding riches.
We
stopped at a channel marker near Sanibel Island. As four egrets watched
silently from atop the marker, my father spoke briefly about my
mother's life. Then I opened the bag and handed it to him, and he
poured her ashes into the deep, blue water. The ashes held together
like a gray cloud, and moved very slowly down into the water and away
from us.
My father's hand wasn't very steady and some of the ash
fell from the bag onto the deck of the boat. I scooped it up with my
hands to put it in the water. It was coarse and gray, with little bits
of bone. I felt every grain, and allowed myself to know in a deep and clear way that this had been my mother's body.
When I
was done, I took a small hose from a compartment on the boat and very
slowly washed her ashes off my hands and into the water. It felt
acutely like a final goodbye, and I cried. I drank in every
micro-moment of the sadness, grief, and gratitude that flowed through
my body.
I am not exactly sure why I chose to write this
email, except maybe to begin speaking the truth of my experience. I
hope that it will provoke you to explore your own mystical experiences
with life and death, and when you do, I invite you to practice being
present to every moment of it.
Warm wishes,
Peter