when I was very young we
had no running water. we would
take baths and other watery chores
in the creek. when I was
still quite young, we moved back
to L.A. -less than a mile
from the beach. in between the
school years, I spent summers with
my Dad at Lake Tahoe. I
am a Pisces. and while I
never quite became one with the
ocean as I might like, it
soothes my soul like nothing else.
when I stand before (or in)
the ocean, I know that it
is immeasurably bigger, deeper, and more
vast than any problem I have.
in the face of this grand
scale and eternal rhythm and repetition,
I am put in my place.
the ocean is not concerned about
bills, or school, or emotional crap.
It is just there. Forever there.
The waves swelling, curling, breaking, retreating.
swelling, curling, breaking, retreating, ad infinitum.
much as the sharp edges of
a broken piece of glass are
tumbled to a softer, smoother edge,
my sharp edges of pain or
sorrow are sanded down to a
dull and less cutting surface. I
find solace in the sound, in
the smell, in the sight of
it. that is the main reason
why last week we released my
Mom’s ashes into the ocean. aside
from her love of the ocean
and the life found within it,
I needed to know that she
was free and in this place
of worship for me. free eternally.
of course, the ocean in Oregon
is not the balmy, palmy beach
of my childhood. it was a
sunny day made ridiculously cold by
the wind that whipped in from
the sea. we braved the weather
in jackets and swim clothes. huddled
under blankets and towels. bringing back
the literal definition of sand wich.
I found myself, in the afternoon,
standing in the surf with my
aunt on my left, releasing my
Mom (and her favorite dog, Rusty)
into the ocean from the little
green bucket that we had used
to mix them in in order
to keep them from sailing away
in the wind onto unsuspecting beachgoers.
the surf was traveling to the
left. I found myself standing in
the surf with my aunt on
my right, releasing my bucketful of
ashes to the sea. the salt
sculptures that I and my son
made already being claimed by the
water’s action. She was a little
bit reluctant to leave the bucket.
We stood there as the tide
brought each wave just a tad
higher up our legs to where
we had tucked up our pants.
trying to get the last couple
of inches to let go of
the bucket. to let go. to
let her go. to let us
let her go. and so, not
crying, but laughing at the idea
of it all. and how she
would have appreciated the humor
because that’s how we roll. together,
as a family, steeped in unconventionality.
so if you should find yourself
in the sea, have a laugh
and think of mom. and me.
I was inspired to write this post specifically today by this post at Squashed Bologna and, of course, Six Word Fridays at Melissa’s
Let’s Talk!