For Dust You Are and Dust You Will Return.

…Somehow I imagined the ashes to be soft and airy.  I was surprised at how rough they felt as I rubbed them between my thumb and fingers.

Last year at this time there was a clearly worn path down to the large sitting rocks at the fishing pond.  The rains that poured out of the skies this June produced thigh high weeds and overgrown wildflowers, covering evidence of past footsteps.

This morning, Todd the kids and I made our way to the very spot that held magic 365 days ago.  (http://kimmyshouse.wordpress.com/2008/10/26/grand-memories/)

Today, memories and tears hung thick in the quiet air.

Todd handed the small white box to me.  He asked each of the kids to share Papa Kirby memories out loud.  He took snapshots of them holding up the specially framed photos of each of their first fishing trips with papa. 

I didn’t have a frame to hold in my hands, just the mental step back in time of my first experience fishing with dad.  I was the same age Kimmy is now, seven.  My first fish was small but the recollection of feeling the fish tug on my line and the excitement of dad helping me to land it seemed enormous. 

When you think about fishing you are somehow able to “feel” the familiar sensation of a fish biting your line.  I think it feels a lot like the tug on your heart when it aches.

I smiled as my kids spontaneously recalled something to share. 

I think Caleb is a bit like me.  Mentally if he doesn’t want to deal with a strong emotion he will “turn a page” in his head and think of something else, damning up the flow of grief that wants to run its course. 

Talking about bugs suddenly became interesting to him once he blurted out a quick thought.

We walked on too a patch of rocks above the water’s edge.  One by one I had them take a pinch of ashes and silently think of something special they loved about my dad and then let the ashes go on the water.

Todd took a turn.

After long hugs he took them on back to the condo.  They went to work making a special cement stepping stone to place at the pond later.

 

letting go

I was left to let go.

I sat for a long time thinking of as many good memories as I could.  Somehow too many “should-ofs” snuck their way into my thoughts. 

I “should –of” got up and had breakfast with dad last August when I stayed at their house. Todd was out of town for a few days and so I escaped the long hours of parenting alone and made the drive to Ft. Collins to stay two nights. 

Before I went to sleep the second night I told my dad I wanted to get up early and have breakfast with him before he went to work. 

From the time I was about ten, I quite often got up early in the morning to make my dad poached eggs and toast before he had to go to work.  It was our special time.   I loved boiling a pot of water and mixing instant Sanka into his mug and milk in mine as we sat and shared the few minutes of morning all by ourselves.

For some reason last year I thought that would be fun thing to do again.  However,  James, scared of the noises in the night had come to sleep in my bed across the hall.  This resulted in not much sleep for me.  While the sun rose I could hear my dad getting ready.  Instead of getting up I chose to stay in bed and capture a few more winks.  “Next time,” I thought as I closed my eyes. 

Dad called me later that morning and told me he had made extra noise hoping I would wake up and come join him.  Instantly I regretted not getting up and mentally made a note to do it on our next sleepover at their house. 

I am certain the idea that had entered my mind that night before was a Gift for one more special breakfast with my dad that I was supposed to have, but chose not to unwrap because I was tired.    

Stupid sleep.

I sat on that rock a little longer.  The box of ashes in my hand, I talked out loud to God and asked Him to tell dad that I am sorry I missed our last breakfast and was looking forward to our next one. 

I still don’t know how the whole heaven/earth –  life/death relates or not to one another from my limited perspective. 

But I know I love a BIG God and if I ask Him to please give my dad a hug from me, it is possible.  I also know my heavenly Father gives me hugs when I need them.

This was the first time I held ashes of someone in my hand.  Somehow I imagined the ashes to be soft and airy.  I was surprised at how rough they felt as I rubbed them between my thumb and fingers.  I suppose it has everything to do with bones.

Somehow the time seemed appropriate to let go.  I poured out the heavy ashes into the water below me.  The dust painted swirls in the water as they slowly sank. 

I can’t remember ever watching something with such fascination.  The reality of my dad’s ashes resting at the bottom on the pond captivated me.  I watched the entire process in detail. Dust and water reacting to one another. 

A few small fish were swimming near the rock and moved around in the dust.  After a few minutes some large bubbles made their way up.  What made them?  A bigger fish?  The dust settling?  I regretted letting Todd take the camera back with him.  It really was pretty the first few seconds the dust swirled into the water.  I would’ve liked to have captured it.

When I finally looked up it was because I heard a little boy crying. 

My hug from heaven greeted me when I spotted the reason.  A grandpa and three grandkids, two boys and a girl, each with a pole in hand were headed my way.  The younger boy had stumbled and hurt his knee.  Grandpa was comforting him.

When they got closer I choked out a hello to the grandpa and told him seeing him take his grandkids fishing blessed me.  He kindly asked me if I was ok and I managed to tell him about last summer, my dad passing away nine months ago and what I had just done. 

After all it was not a mere coincidence that they had come to fish at that time. I didn’t think it would be right to just let them pass without saying hello.  I talked with the kids for a minute.  The little girl asked her grandpa why I was crying, he told her I was sad because my dad had died. 

She looked at me sweetly and told me “When he comes alive again, he can take you fishing.”  I smile and her grandpa told her, “No, her dad is in heaven.”

He invited me to sit and fish with them.  I declined but watched as they walking to the magic fishing spot to make some memories of their own.

 “Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked I will depart. The LORD gave and the LORD has taken away; may the name of the LORD be praised.” Job 1:21

The fishing Pond at our place in Grand Lake