ashes to ashes, dust to dust

I've mentioned the love and support we received at the lake before, the biggest reason William is named William. I remember so clearly, we rolled down the window on our way out last summer, shortly after finding out we were pregnant, our friend, the guy who oversees the place, was sitting on his porch swing and called out... What are you? We both looked at him confused, he said it again, and M and I both beamed and said "Pregnant!" back to him. He gave his sweet cowboy smile and we drove home.

Sometime during this past weekend, we mentioned to him, that we wanted to rent a boat Monday morning to spread our son's ashes. He puffed his cigar and looked quietly down at my cast. "How about I get my parent's boat instead... if you want"

I immediately thought of the yellow pontoon boat that I covet. Perfect.

All weekend I kept feeling like I didn't have enough emotion about our decision to let his ashes go. I started to wonder if my pain pills were masking my feelings. After all the hustle and bustle, everyone left on Sunday except us and the lake grew quiet. I stared out across the campfire and felt the calm sadness settle in.

M and I had a conversation earlier in the week, deciding whether now was the time or if I felt I needed to hold on a little longer. I acknowledged that the vice grip that suffocated me into feeling like I would be losing him all over again had loosened. My emotional attachment (materially speaking) is to his little feet prints, the blanket with blood on it and the cap they put on him, not to the sterile looking box of ashes. We both confessed that at this point, almost 11 months since he died, we felt like we had to let him go. However irrational it may seem, we felt like holding onto his ashes was preventing us from letting go just that much more, and preventing us from getting pregnant on a spiritual, emotional level.

Monday dawned, the most beautiful of the three days we were there. We checked in with each other, confirming we were both on board to go ahead.

The boat arrived to pick us up at the dock about 9:30 am. (Hobbling on crutches on a floating dock is fun, btw). R's parents and R came along. At first I was a little apprehensive, I thought R was taking us by himself. I had only met his sweet elderly parents once before. It turned out to be the perfect choice.

As soon as I got on the boat, the worry over no emotions faded and I lost it. R's mom held and rocked me as we headed out to the spot we decided on. I held tight to M's hand, the dog put his head in my lap. After a little while, I settled down and R's mom moved away. M & I continued to hold hands and managed a bit of small talk as the boat made its way across the lake.

We arrived in the spot, M cut open the box. I was curious what it would look like, how many ashes there would be. Inside we found a small bag with a little metal tag attached to a twist tie and ... my son. Or what was left of his body. The little flecks of bone in the ashes made it all seem so much more real. He was really here, he was real, he was our son. This really happened to us.

R's mom asked us to wait a minute and she said a prayer. It was a lovely prayer that had all 5 of us crying by the end. I was, am, will always be so thankful for her kind words, it made it so much more perfect.

M and I turned and into the water he went. I asked M to let me hold some, I wanted one last touch before I said goodbye. We both watched as the ashes mixed into the lake water...

Disappearing

Dispersing

Scattering

Gone, but always there.