The urn sits atop the bookshelf. That’s a sentence, isn’t
it? The urn…I’ve heard of them, seen them in movies. It took a few months for
me to have my daughter’s ashes, or rather my daughter in her earth form to be
in the same room with me. They’re here, now. She’s here now. They burned her
and I don’t dare think of that too deeply. I did ask the funeral home if it was
just her or her clothes or the casket included in that cremation. But, her tiny
body is gone, all of her and I can’t quite grasp what it means.
I pressed the urn to my stomach with both hands, firmly into
my stomach, concave. Instinctively, I wanted to shove her back into my womb in
her beginning form as my baby, start all over. Maybe there would be a different
result. I stared at it for a while. The lid on the bottom, fell off and luckily
there is a bag inside with her ashes. Is it her? Can I acknowledge that she has
been turned into dust? Does it matter? She’s not coming back. The rational is
drowned by the screams in my head, the soul cry. I didn’t feel anything by
touching the urn or by placing my fingers inside. There were traces of dust and
I touched them and rubbed them on my neck. I want to touch them finally. I want
to strip all of my clothes off and all of my Self naked on the floor. I want to
scream and rub her ashes all over me. I want to burst into flames with the pain
and the utter disillusionment of it all. I want to feel her if only her burned
beyond the human form, feel her on me, with me. I’m desperate. Yet, I hold it
together and stare at this fancy jar with a faulty lid and wait for magic.
There is no magic.
In fact, the urn rests upon a shelf awaiting the journey to
the ocean. Some of her ashes will be placed inside rings and necklaces and
maybe a few tattoos. And, some will play a part in our ceremony to return her
to her love, her peace, her home, her heaven in the ocean. Someone mentioned
that fish will eat the ashes. After debating whether or not to scrap the whole
idea that second, her friend reminded me that if the fish eat the ashes and
other fish eat those fish the cycle of life continues and she’ll be in the
ocean forever. So, that’s that. Twelve
of us are driving to the ocean for our first memorial, intimate, secluded, and
necessary to honor my daughter. The screams, tears, and pain will flow, grow,
subside in our week on the very beach she’s loved and trusted, needed really
for so many years. We will laugh, hold each other, and send her off with a ride
on a dolphin cruise filled with her music, all scattering tiny ashes of her
into the water with a funny quote or perhaps a memory. We must heal and we must
endure and we must show her that we will go on.
I don’t know what I was thinking when I planned this trip.
She already made the deposit on our town home as she planned to return just four
months after she took her life. I think of that a lot…just four months, Taylor.
You could have waited four months and you would have some relief. I beg, still.
I believe I always will. But, the trip has to happen. We need to go, her close
friends, our little family and I. The task seems so great now that there are
just 24 hours until departure. The burden seems so much to bear but I can’t
think of that. I never think of her and connect it with anything other than
honoring and loving her. I will love her and honor her with our little tribe.
The tears flowed all day as I sobbed on the floor sorting through her tiny summer
clothes and tiny bikinis.
And, the urn sits atop the shelf. And, I will pack
with a mournful and defeated heart. In my mind I know this trip will change us,
allow for us to grow. But, for now the urn sits atop the shelf.
