Caregiving Story

A few weeks ago, my sister, brother, myself and our families gathered together to scatter my mom's ashes.

She died about 10 months ago and we knew pretty much right away that we would do it during a week spent in her favorite place at the time she always went there - Sarasota, Florida in July. Kinda crazy with the heat and humidity, but she loved it there.

The funny thing about scattering ashes is that it often comes some time after the fact of the person's passing. There's usually a time and place that comes into play and pulling everyone together can take some time.

With the delay, a confusing set of emotions came into play for me. I'd say that the deep, deep grieving had passed (or been buried by the time and the need to believe I'd moved on). This isn't to say that I haven't had frequent times when I'd get The Welling as my wife calls it (i.e. the welling up of tears) when I'd think of my mom in any number of ways and miss the constant that she was in my life.

For the most part, as the week progressed while we waited for everyone to arrive and for the right moment, my emotions were pretty flat. I'd get a little sad at her absence (and my dad's - he's wheelchair-bound and couldn't make the trip) in this place that she loved for 30+ years, but nothing overwhelming.

But, then one afternoon, I went for a swim by myself to cool off and to get a little quiet away from our family crowd. I came out and sat on the sand staring out at the Gulf and then out of nowhere I kinda lost it. Thoughts of her came flooding back to me and I just started sobbing like a baby out there on the beach.

Grief's like that. It comes and gets you at any time and place and when you think you might be over it or have seen the worst of it.

But, I like it. Through grief, I think the person lives on for awhile. And, I think I have some fear that when the grief truly ends, I will have finally lost her.

That night, at dusk, we did the first of our scatterings (we did one on the sand and one out in the water the next day). It was a quiet affair. We had a number of sand buckets with her ashes and we each would take some and scatter them in our own way, alone or with other family members.

After we were done, I stayed out while everyone else went back to place my parents used to stay. I wanted some more quiet, but I also wanted to witness one of those amazing Gulf Coast lightning shows that was happening over the next key down the coast. It was the most beautiful and impressive storm like that I've ever seen (probably close to 100 lightning bolts striking down or across the sky in about 30 minutes).

I share this because my mom did not believe there was anything waiting for us after death. And as much as I would like her to "be somewhere" that would let me believe otherwise, I can't say with any assurance that I differ in my own beliefs.

But, what I'm getting at is that it was comforting to watch that lightshow in the sky that night. It was like the last blast of fireworks that we all wait for every year on the 4th of July. It felt like it was something like a goodbye from her. Not consistent, I know, with what I think... but, it *felt* like that and it made it a little bit easier to say goodbye one more bit.