this is how it ends
we chose this weekend: family and friends
long flat sands, tidal pools, the rain stopping just in time.
real life makes our ritual short and our hearts lighter: our dogs chase and bark, your grandchildren splash and play nearby
we remember you with tears and smiles, with messages scribbled on balloons to let fly into the grey skies, with tulips and daffodils scattered with your ashes
all that's left
let time do its work
let the tide do its work
and carry you to the sea
we scattered my stepmom's ashes today at the beach she loved: her family from the east and her step-family in Vancouver, friends from several towns, dogs and children.
what she would have loved: that we are all together this weekend; that I went with her grand-children to the Aquarium yesterday; that 8 of us sat in a Yaletown restaurant last night and ate, drank and laughed hugely (and racked up the most epic bill I've ever seen); that tomorrow we'll have Easter brunch and drink a toast to her.
Rest in Peace, June.