Ashes To Water

The first time I ever heard the word "cremains" it was coming from the lips of a funeral-home employee with stiff blond hair wearing a brown suit, tan hose and sensible heels.

Please dear God, I thought, let her have made that word up.

But no, she didn't. It's a real word.

Cremains: " The ashes that remain after cremation of a corpse."

Eck, right?

Not really. Have you ever seen any? They're like angel's dust (not angel dust) but heavier.

We scattered Lynn's today. Her cremains. I'd rather call them ashes, though. It was a beautiful day down at St. Marks and everyone took a handful and said something and flung them out into the water which was lapping the rocky little point where we stood, winter-clear and chuckling itself against the shore.

Each brother, her sister, her mama. Her son.

Here's what I said, "Lynn! I joyfully release you!" And I did.

Or at least that one handful of ashes I was holding, anyway.

I almost hated to let it go but it was beautiful, seeing it fly and fall into the clear salty water, salty water like we all come from, the salty water that bathes our planet, salty water that forms our tears, both of joy and of sorrow.

I could sort of hear Lynn giggle as she flew.