December 17, 2011

610 am.

The sounds of closing dresser drawers and closets fill the once quietness of the house.  Feet pound their way up the stairs into the darkness of the house, lights clicked on along the way, chairs are pulled out as they sit down to tie their shoes.

It is time.

I run out to warm up the car, December 17th, it's only 33 degrees, the first snow is expected tonight. Everyone knows their part, and they are ready.  The car is busy with anticipation, grief, and energy that only boys can produce at 6 am.  The radio clips from commercial to their next pre scheduled song...

"I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean

Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens

Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance

And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance

I hope you dance." -L Womack

We make the drive to his old house.  There's a salt water inlet that runs under the street and straight into the ocean.  Surrounded by large rocks up by the street, it tapers, cutting it's way through the rocky beach sand until it finally reaches the beached waves.  During low tide, the "river" disconnects creating tide pools. These are the same tide pools the boys played in for two years religiously on weekends with their Dad.  They collected countless creatures forever captured in old drywall buckets, only to be freed and caught again during their next visits.  This is the spot they have chosen.

We walk quickly, hoping not to disturb the new residents of the homes along the beach.  We are alone, with exception of a long off owner and her confused dog.  Somehow, I think knowing that this is not entirely within the rules of the county, makes this more appropriate, as if somehow it was something their father would have done. And, it is, after all, exactly what he wanted done.

We reach the point where the large rocks turn to smaller ones, and then then just sand.  High tide was just two hours earlier, the river is still connected, and the current within the stream is so strong it is rolling baseball sized rocks far into the surf. 

They say their goodbyes, quietly, to themselves.  I have no idea what they said, or how they have made their peace, and it is not mine to know. When they were ready, they slowly poured them in.  The wind whipping from the west, the finer dust flew in line with the ashes. Oldest looks at me, "Look.  It's so beautiful."

And it was.  The ashes swirled, white and creamy into the water, forced by the current, they looked as though they were running to the waves.  The boys ran along side him right to the surf until he was gone.  Surrounded by the sounds of waves crashing, the beach glowing with the oranges and pink of the new day, they searched for shells and sea glass, another of their favorite things to do with him.  They jumped on the edge of the sand and made "avalanches" until Youngest fell in.  Even soaked to his knees, he was not deterred. 

They took as much time as they needed, made peace with the moment, and walked back to the car stopping only for a few handfuls of fine sand.  There was no crying.  No overwhelming sadness.  Only peace.  They had let him go, freeing his body to join with his spirit.  He was free now to go anywhere he wanted, explore the world, and be at everyone of their basketball games.  He would never again be able to miss an visit, never disappoint them, and never leave them again.  He could always be with them now, no matter how far away they choose to go in life. 

There are moments in life, both sad and happy, when I wish I had a magical camera.  One that could take my memories and print them out on paper.  I watched them play on the sand, laughing, exploring, and throwing rocks wishing I hadn't left everything in the car on purpose. Absorbing the beauty of that moment,  I reached my hands into my pockets, frozen from helping Youngest's ashes along in the water, and felt my phone.  The phone I was positive I had left in the car. 

It was most likely a moment that will stay with them forever.  But on the off chance they ever want that magical camera, I will have it for them.