Crematoriums will turn ashes into river-rock looking stones |
I His cremated remains arrived by mail today in a large box proclaiming to all what was inside. No longer ashes but a box of white stones. He'd have loved this. He did lighting for rock bands. For thirty years he was high. I so loved his laugh. II Ancient markers, primal, stacked stones announce: I am here. I have lived. Patience is required to attain perfect balance-- in death, I shall give him that. There is unity and progression as we each journey our trail. We are more than the sum of our ashes. III The first is love--for that is our true foundation. Ever and always--no matter what. Next is creativity--as we each tread our own paths, never settling for the mundane. Third for wonder. Always seeking answers. Even when we didn't know the right questions to ask. IV The last pure gratitude for all my brother was. Kind, loyal, good clear through. I know which is which and for now, they are two by two. Our old house vibrates with our energy. As they come to me, I want to add found rocks for he was layered and complex. It's not finished yet. V Significant, I think. His middle name was Peter -- of stone. David means beloved. He was that. Our dad called me 'rock.' He always said we were perfect counterpoints to the other. For years neither of us understood that. Then we did. It made us smile. VI I will add more stones as I think of things or memory stories forth. Need to find just the right place-- somewhere as solid as he was. He'll show me the where. He still is all around me. Wrapped around me, something, perhaps, like a hug. VII One will journey to another -- one who ever saw him for all he was and loved him no matter what. Some to my children, yet another shall find a home in Bethel, NY. As in life, there is still enough of him to go around. He was always more than good enough. VIII ... ... ... A few beats of silence for my mind has no adequate words. I look out my window. The sun, setting in a burst of magenta glory, says it all. |