Wednesday, September 04, 2013

Ashes

Ashes to Ashes Scattered across the world, one ocean to the next, what is left of this vibrant young boy is now floating with flotsam and jetsam. His bones burned into eternity enter the waters, dropped from baggies lovingly and with great grief from friends and extended family. In one picture, a man on a pier opens a bag. The look on his face could be labeled: determination, sadness, responsibility. So, there you are, now, my nephew, though your face still looks out at me from the pictures I have on the refrigerator, the ones your mother posts online, the ones I just see in my mind. I do not know where you might be now. I want to believe what I want to believe. You are well, playing, kicking a soccer ball, meeting a girl, falling in love, arguing with your mother about what you should wear to your middle school dance, cutting your face with a razor for the first time, out- growing your clothes in one short season, living the life you will never get to live. To say goodbye is not enough. Anger clouds rational thought. I cannot let it go. Maybe, one day, when I sit in front of the great ocean of choice, I will feel you there in the waves lapping at my exposed toes, energy exponentially filling my aging body with so much joy for having known you.

11 comments:

Maggie said...

This did not format correctly. Maybe Gabe didn't want it to. I just had to write it.

capacina said...

We do not recover from this.

LKD said...

I like that it didn't format as you wanted or expected it to, Maggie. It seems fitting that this piece about your nephews ashes should blur together like a prose poem.

I know that whenever I'm near the ocean, when I can see and hear and smell and feel the waves, I love knowing that my father and brother are out there in the deep blue blue.

It seems surreal that someone or something (like my cat, Elmo), a living thing that we loved can be reduced to such small pieces.

Next time I go to the ocean, soon, hopefully, I will see the waves and think of your nephew. And my father. And my brother.

Maggie said...

Thank you, Laurel. I forgot I even wrote this.

There are days and nights in which I can make no sense of this life. We hurry around and are so busy in doing what needs to be done that we lose sight of what matters.

When the death of a child becomes a child you know other than reading about the loss of a child you don't know, the reality and finality and questioning become more intense.

His mother has sent his ashes to friends in Greece, CA, TX, and other places her son had visited.

She is going to send some to my brother on Long Island as her son once swam in the waters there.

The next time I get to visit the ocean, I, too, shall send thoughts to your father and brother.

Thank you.

Barbara said...

PAIN

capacina said...

Happy Thanksgiving

Barbara said...

Merry Xmas

Barbara said...

My uncle died Dec. 18, 13
He was 62 years old. I was there about 2 hours after he died and saw him. I saw a starburst in the room.

Barbara said...

Are you doing alright at this time?

james said...

i miss you. xo

Maggie said...

I miss you, jim. Been a long time, friend of mine. How in the heck are you? xo