Forever and a Day

I have been reluctant to write for quite some time, trying to deal with all of the life events of friends and family. On Palm Sunday about 9am, my mother became a widow. Brian's death did not come as a surprise, of course, since he had been diagnosed with an aggressive brain cancer in September of 2009. But he seemed to do well with the surgery, chemo and radiation, and was at least, holding his own until the cancer returned around Christmastime. He never really recovered from the second major surgery- marked by one mishap after another-a head bleed, leakage of spinal fluid from his ear, delirium, a stroke that left him with poor strength on his right side, and then countless hours of rehab, followed by a restless course at home with hospice care. The end is never easy, and his wasn't either as my mom and his son, Vernon, struggled with him until his placement in the hospice facility in Mt. Pleasant. Even the last little bit dragged on more than usual, until Palm Sunday when he passed away just before 9 am.

We had a church memorial for him that Wednesday followed by the scattering of his ashes off the dock at their house. The service was terrific with Father Charlie, their former minister, doing the eulogy. Charlie had know Brian and my mother for a long time, and he really conveyed that familiarity in his remarks. The memorial included a full church service, something that I think Brian would have really liked. The scattering of the ashes involved just family-all of us huddled together on the dock, at extremely low tide, watching his dust scatter in the wind and water. Amazing that such a big guy is reduced to not much more than a gallon sized bag of ashes and bits of bone after cremation. I scooped a big handful of the gray dust and bone shards to feel him between my fingers for the last time- a welcome relief after all of the words and feelings that had been swirling about all day. The wind took some of the dust into that shallow water and mud and blew some of it onto my pants leg and the dock surface. It felt so good to have a bit of bone in my handful and get to feel something solid. But that is just the way we are, isn't it, holding onto solid forms for as long as we can. I was so glad that we could scatter Brian's ashes exactly where he wanted to be-the very place he most loved in the world. It makes me tear up even now to think about how sweet that was. How it made me feel part of something bigger than myself, than any of us. What a delight to share all of that community and fellowship in Brian's honor. I know that I was not the saddest person there that day, but I had my own special reasons for being sad and touched and fortunate to be there as a LIVING being, given all I have been through with my own cancers. It makes me all the more grateful and pleased to be here.