into the sea

Original date 12 September 2011

You read about people scattering ashes, you see it in movies, but to really do it, to really handle them and toss them into the sea -- what is that really like? Will the music swell into an emotional crescendo? Will there be a wind beneath my wings? Will I feel closure, or just emptiness?

A high wind had come up, and the sky was dark on the western horizon. White caps had formed on the water; it was humid and the air was close -- it's southern Florida, after all.

As I clutched the container of my husband's ashes to my side, I walked into the churning ocean.  I found that I had grown oddly attached to them. I didn't want to throw them into the sea; it was like throwing a part of him away. They had been with me everyday since his funeral. I had grown accustomed to their presence.

The ashes were all that remained of him.

It's been eleven months this week since Brian died. And while the shock has diminished, the absolute vehemence with which my brain still rejects the idea that my husband is no more is surprising, even to me.

And so I was standing in the ocean, in a gathering storm in southern Florida, on Singer Island. I held onto the box within which was the bag of ashes and waited grimly for the right time to do it.  I looked at his aunts and uncles and pleaded for them to help with my eyes. I couldn't do it. Their encouraging nods told me I could; I must. I opened the bag. Ashes are surprisingly heavy. And they are gritty, with pieces of bone in them. My stomach clenched. A bag of ashes. My husband. Brian.

I should say a prayer.

But I was without words. Instead, I opened the bag, poured the ashes.

The Atlantic Ocean is very blue, even in a storm. The ashes created a swirling cloud of darkness. Some sank, some spread out. The sound of my weeping was being carried away by the stormy winds.

Brian's family read a prayer in Hebrew, honoring his heritage, and bringing them closure. I was too emotional to speak. As storm clouds continued gathering above us, we remembered Brian.  And it began to rain.