When we poured her ashes into the sea, we mixed them with her oldest son's.
The waves brought them both closer to us before they pulled them away
Like a child's dreams of fame.
The two boxes of ashes were different one from the other.
She was browner but smoother
He was gray, chunkier, less uniform.
The lighthouse stood over them as they mixed with eternity
But it took a whole lot longer for them to leave shore than it seemed like it should have.
The waves churned them
But they stayed put
Gray brown in the blue ocean.
We watched and waited for a signal that we'd achieved closure
The boat in the distance had a symbolic name that I thought must be god trying to tell us something
But now I can't remember the name of the boat, so either I'm not listening or he needs to speak in plainer terms with me
But the wake helped to bring them out further, mix and agitate, dilute them, and for that we were grateful.
There were birds all around:
Gulls and sparrow like things swooping down
Eventually we left them there in the ocean
Together without us
Blue, brown and gray
Day seven. TRAGEDY STRIKES.
5 hours ago