There was something so deeply intimate about being there in Troy, going through my Uncle's space, a space now empty of his physical presence, and yet he was everywhere. In the look on Rusty's face, the notes left on the table, a book on the nightstand, boots kicked off and laying on the floor.
His ashes are heavy in my arms. And just like he did with my Grandpa before him, with my bare hand I lift the ashes out and let them fall through my fingers to the gentle wind, to the tall grass, to the river rocks, and to the wild river.
There's deep sorrow and a calming peace in doing so. He's where he wanted to be. And I look at the bend in the river and tears of joy might stain my face, and the summer sun might burn me till I'm blind. But not to where I cannot see him walking on the back roads, by the rivers of my memory, ever smilin', ever gentle on my mind.
Those song lyrics have been in my head and I take a moment to say goodbye before I rise from the riverside, and return to the others.
His ashes are heavy in my arms. And just like he did with my Grandpa before him, with my bare hand I lift the ashes out and let them fall through my fingers to the gentle wind, to the tall grass, to the river rocks, and to the wild river.
There's deep sorrow and a calming peace in doing so. He's where he wanted to be. And I look at the bend in the river and tears of joy might stain my face, and the summer sun might burn me till I'm blind. But not to where I cannot see him walking on the back roads, by the rivers of my memory, ever smilin', ever gentle on my mind.
Those song lyrics have been in my head and I take a moment to say goodbye before I rise from the riverside, and return to the others.
3 comments:
You brought tears to my eyes. What a beautiful piece and I love the picture.
Thanks for writing this. Mom
Just absolutely perfect, my love.
Tender! And lovely pictures.
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