Ashes on the Water

Excerpt: Backroads 1999 | Author: Keli Williams

Ashes on the Water

Excerpt: Backroads 1999 | Author: Keli Williams

Grief, Bereavement, and Commemoration

Grief, bereavement, and commemoration are incredibly personal and complicated aspects of human and community experiences. Many workplaces are increasingly taking more non-linear and inclusive approaches to grief and bereavement in their official policies and better recognizing the importance of chosen family beyond strict blood or legal affinities.

Check out this piece by Keli Williams to explore one family’s intimate and spiritual experience processing the passing of a loved one. It’s important to note that grief and commemoration are approached differently across faiths and cultures and this represents one experience of multitudes.

In “Ashes on the Water,” a family carries out the profound act of scattering a loved one’s ashes on a lake cherished in their collective memory. As they partake in this intimate ritual, recalling personal stories and reading scriptures, they navigate through their grief, simultaneously honoring promises made and letting go. This emotional journey is a testament to the depth of familial bonds and the sacred act of remembrance.

While Dad readied the seven passenger motorboat, Mom and I stood on the edge of the dock, staring out at the lake that stretched far beyond our focus. We gazed at each other, feeling an alarming sense of fear as we cast nervous smiles of comfort and reassurance. We had planned this day to the last detail; we knew we must proceed as we had promised no matter how frightened we had become over something so illegal, yet so necessary.

I looked to my mother, “You know we have to do this, Mom. Let’s turn the page on this chapter in our lives.”

Mom returned my glance and quietly said, “He’s waiting for us to do this. We have to keep our promise.”

With her words, Mom handed me her black backpack as she stepped down into the boat. I caught my breath when I felt the weight of the parcel tucked away inside the bag. Suddenly I felt that all the heaviness my heart had felt for the past five months hung off my right shoulder. With a final glance at the lake, I stepped into the boat and Dad cast off.

As Dad steered the boat toward our destination, we made idle chatter as if we were sightseeing. We were stunned by the tremendous growth of the lakeside property and the commercialism that surrounded the lake in places that seemed like an invasion of privacy to all who dwelled there. The lake I remembered from my childhood had changed. Still, the water itself held its familiar charm, the deep shade of sparkling green, a liquid Seven-Up bottle. Its emerald depth revealed hidden treasures, tree stumps and large rocks, the sea green mirror of memory.

Ten minutes into the trip, I reflected upon the events that had brought us to this lake on this particular day, With this thought, I reawakened to my surroundings as I heard the boat rumble over the chop and felt the spray of the water and the chill of the air. I hugged myself as I whispered, “Maybe today, maybe today. Maybe you can cry today.”

“What did you say?” Dad asked me.

I shook my head, I’m just thinking back to the times that we spent here every summer. I can’t believe how cold and quiet it is today. For a holiday, there sure isn’t much activity.”

Mom and Dad began to quiz me on the trivia of our summers at the lake. Did I remember the neighbors who held the annual corn roast every August? Did I know that my younger sister was conceived here? Did I remember my favorite spot on the big lake? Did I remember going to what I, as a child, had called “the pink store”? Did I remember the day I almost drowned when I followed my brother down the dock and fell in? Their questions engendered a childlike serenity I had not felt since my brother’s death. His death had made me feel old, realizing that I, too, would die someday. Despite the chill of the air, my heart began to warm. I realized that my brother belonged in this lake, this lake full of memories, the perfect resting place for someone who had loved it with a life-long attachment.

After the laughter ceased, I began to feel guilty about forcing my parents to, as I had stated, “turn the page to begin a new chapter of our family story.” Just two weeks ago, I had told my mother that the time had come to lay my brother’s ashes to rest. Mom had to think about it for a few days, but when she made her decision, she called me with a voice of confidence to tell me that plans needed to be made. She picked a date for the event. I rented a boat.

Mom, Dad, and I drove to the lake together. We didn’t talk much on the way. Determined to make this day a memorable one, Mom planned a picnic lunch of my brother’s favorite sandwich-a submarine without tomatoes, smothered in Italian dressing. At the boat rental facility, we sat on a bench facing the water and enjoyed our lunch as we watched flocks of ducks search for food by the shore. Just before our one o’clock departure, Mom scurried through the boat yard to gather a handful of wild flowers. I walked to the dock slowly, the momentum of the task holding me back. My parents said they were ready.

I startled myself back into reality, trying to shake off my feelings when Dad began to slow the boat. As we gently drifted to the spot we had chosen, Mom asked me to get the package ready. With my eyes tightly closed, my hands descended into the black backpack and carefully lifted out the box. Trembling with grief, I handed my brother’s ashes to my mother, who looked as if she had aged one hundred years in the last hour. Sensing my feelings, she smiled and said. “Just like we promised. Your brother doesn’t deserve to spend eternity in a cardboard box, does he?”

I shook my head. Mom began to tear the brown paper off the box until she found the slit in the lid that she opened to reveal a plastic bag full of surprisingly white ashes.

“Are you two ready?” she asked Dad and me.

“We’re ready,” Dad solemnly confirmed.

Without thinking, I stood up. I could feel Dad stand up behind me.

With the bag of ashes in her lap, Mom began to read scripture from Romans 14 “None of us lives to himself and none of us dies to himself. If we live, we live to the Lord; and if we die, we die to the Lord; so then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s.”

She halted to caress the bag, then she began to read from the Book of John, ” ‘I am the resurrection and the life’,” says the Lord;” ‘he who believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and whoever lives and believes in me shall never die’.”

My throat began to burn as I fought the urge to cry. Dad put his right arm around my shoulders.

“Are you okay?” he whispered.

I nodded as Mom read a prayer she had written with the assistance of our minister, “Since almighty God has called Kurt from this life unto himself, we commit his mortal remains to the beauty of this place which he loved so much. We thank our Creator for the beauty of this earth which He has given to us as our home for a time. Now we thank God that Kurt remains in His eternal love and care. Christ was the first to rise from the dead, and we know that He will raise up our mortal bodies, which must return to dust, to be like His in glory. We commend our beloved Kurt to the Lord in the sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life. May the Lord receive him into his peace. Amen.”

As Mom finished the prayer, she gently lifted the bag of ashes from her lap and cradled it for a moment. Looking to Dad and me, she leaned over the side of the boat and emptied the bag ever so delicately into the water. We watched as the white ashes actually appeared to form into the shape of a body that seemingly swam away. We tossed in the wild flowers and they quickly gathered to follow the white figure. The sun shone on the ashes, giving them a sparkle as they traveled toward peace.

We stood in the boat watching until Kurt’s ashes disappeared from our sight. As Dad started the boat’s engine, I wiped a tear from my face. There were many tears to follow. For the first time in five months, I allowed my tears to flow freely. We were sad, but the great weight had suddenly been lifted from our hearts. I easily lifted the black backpack and folded it, now empty of its parcel. We had sent my brother to where he wanted to be, as ashes on the water.