Ashes to Ashes

At my father's funeral, I remember thinking to myself that someone had made a mistake. It couldn't possibly be my dad in that small urn. He was so big! This piece of evidence sufficed to justify the denial I lived in, and I left, dry-eyed and strangely lighthearted. It amused and puzzled me to see everyone else accept what they were told, without question. I would deny this out loud, but I suppose I am a bit like those crazy Elvis fans who swear he is still alive, living like a recluse. A part of me would not be surprised if I found my father knocking on my door someday.

His (alleged) ashes were interred, not scattered. I do not know if he had left specific instructions or not. I often wonder where I would have scattered them if it had been asked of me. It saddens me that I cannot name the place that would likely have been the most meaningful to him. At the time of his passing, our relationship was just beginning to change, slowly turning into a more adult-to-adult rapport. I believe that the rites of the dead are meant for the living. I would have scattered his ashes in a location that reminds me of him. I think I know just the place, a derelict property on the shore of lake Sacacomie...

***

As the Icelandic volcano spreads its river of ashes in the European skies and beyond, I wonder. I have no spiritual allegiances but I love to temporarily suspend my disbelief in order to look for symbols. I force myself to connect them to my own life and this exercise makes me reflect and learn. Ashes symbolize death, loss. Scattering them means letting go. Seems to me my message is simple: I must let go of things that are dead. More specifically, relationships.

This is not a new concept as it pertains to romantic relationships. I've always been able to let go of those. No, I am referring to friendships, those sacrosanct bonds that must be preserved at all costs, even if they must be placed on life support. There was a quote from Emily Bronte that I used to swear by as a teenager:

Love is like the wild rose-briar;

Friendship like the holly-tree.

The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms,

But which will bloom most constantly?

Loyalty in friendship is fiercely important to teenagers with short-lived romances, but must it be so for grown adults? No love is truly unconditional. Should friendships be? As lovers may grow apart over time, so can friends. When all we have left in common is memories from a shared past, when there is nothing about our current lives, the friendship is dying. The life support is all the gatherings, the reunions full of effusive reminiscing. Instinctively, I think “We've been friends for so many years, I can't possibly let go!” But I can. Not that I will, yet, but herein lies the novelty: I am giving myself permission to let go. Letting some friendships ebb could allow new ones to flow, ones that correspond more with who I am now and where I am going.