Ashes and Sand

One of my earliest memories is sitting in a highchair playing with an hourglass. I felt disturbed by the object. When I flipped it, the sand would slip through the narrow aperture and make a pile at the bottom. Eventually the grains would run out and any outward sign of the passage of time would cease. This alarmed me and I believe contributed to an obsession with the passage of time that I have.

I suspect this memory has persisted due to the next moment that followed. My mother's stepfather, Dell, started an argument with my grandmother during dinner. She stood up in anger. He followed suit and slapped her hard across the face. I don't remember anything other than the complete silence that followed. When I was younger, I did not understand why this happened. Now, I am fairly certain the argument was about my mom, my sister, and myself. He wanted us out of the house. We had been there several weeks. My grandmother refused to kick us out. He eventually forced us out anyhow. She would leave him over this, meet Ron Porubsky, and move up near Farwell with him.

Ron, my grandmother, and great grandmother would be buried just outside of that small town. And when my mom passed, we added half her ashes to the family plot. I cannot help but link this moment with where my mom is buried.

In truth, my mother did not want to be buried near Farwell. I asked her this as we drove by the Surrey Township Cemetery after a visit to my grandma's place. This must have been June, three months before my grandma passed. I asked my mom where she wanted to be buried. She didn't know. I think she didn't know because no place ever really felt like home to her. She felt out of place her entire life.

But I kept this to myself as we sat in the basement of the funeral home mulling the particulars over. In the end we agreed to have half of her ashes buried with our family so part of her never had to be alone. This felt right regardless of what my mom had said. We decided to scatter the other half on a beach on Lake Michigan. My mother adored beaches and sunsets and loved the beaches of Lake Michigan in particular. It felt right.

There were a few beaches from which to choose. We considered Sleeping Bear Dunes, Empire Beach (where Kyeorda and I were married), Saugatuck, and Ludington. Each place had meaning for the family. In the end, we chose Ludington, a place we visited many times with our mom. My last trip there had actually been with my mom, just five days before we found out Kyeorda was pregnant with Micah.

In early May, Karen, Kyeorda, Micah, and I piled into the Jeep and headed to Ludington. My aunt and uncle headed up from Kentucky and Martin came over from Lansing. We met up on a Saturday afternoon. We had hoped to scatter her ashes at sunset, but the sky was a stubborn grey. We opted for the dismal lighting over nighttime and thus after dinner, we headed to a deserted beach.

We chose a place at random. Karen grabbed the box with our mom's ashes and we walked out into a drizzle. Martin and our aunt and uncle had very thoughtfully bought roses which they passed out to each of us before going out to the beach. Once out there, Karen and I were tongue tied and our uncle came through with a beautiful prayer. We then each took a turn scattering her ashes onto the wet sand. The water would roll over the dark grey ashes with white flecks and wash them away. The ones that remained were slowly worked into the sand. We then scattered the roses into the water, a last offering to my mom. Micah was shivering so he and Kyeorda returned to the warmth of the car. The rest of us stood in silence watching the water, unable to just walk away. After a while, the chill was seeping into our bones. Karen took some sand. I looked around trying to drink in the nearby landmarks. And then we left for the hotel to play Euchre for old-times sake.

The next day, I went back to what I now regard as my mom's beach by myself. I wanted to make sure I could find it again and I suppose I still felt unsettled. The beach had become charged with strangeness. I felt a bit of vertigo for a few moments after walking out onto it. The roses were still there, but no sign of the ashes. I wrote a message to her in the sand and then stood feeling the silence. Satisfied, I claimed a sand-encrusted piece of driftwood and left.