Ashes

 In June of this past year, Scott and I met up with Scott's sister, Kim, and her husband, Lyle, on the Oregon coast.  We were there to spread Scott and Kim's parents' ashes.  Their mom, Dee, passed away a few years ago, and their dad, Tom, has been gone for over twenty years.  They wanted their ashes spread together, and we assembled to fulfill their wish.

Scott rented a boat for the four of us, plus Juno and Ernie, to go into the bay and up the big river.  It was a stunningly sunny day on the Oregon coast, and before we went about the task of spreading the ashes, Scott drove us around the bay.  We watched the seals on the beaches, grunting and yelling as they awkwardly slopped around each other.  Seagulls screeched in the sky as we puttered this way and that, the wind whipping off the ocean and occasionally soaking us with wayward spray.  

Finally, Scott turned the boat up the river, and we slowly motored our way.  We reached a wide, slow spot in the river, and Scott cut the motor.  The sun shone down, warming our faces, as the wind cooled our backs.  Kim said a few lovely words, then Lyle.  Scott remained silent as he often did.  It was time.  

Kim had her mom, Dee, as well as the ashes of Dee's dog.  I watched solemnly as she slowly, gently, poured first her mom and then her dog into the water.  The current picked up the ashes and swirled them together before carrying them away into the depths.  

As I watched the ashes slowly disappear, I heard Scott muttering softly to himself.  "These.  Won't.  Come.  Out."

I turned to look at him.  He had his dad's ashes, which were in a plastic bag in a box.  Scott was holding the box upside down over the water, forcefully shaking it to try and loosen the ashes.  With every shake, he mumbled again, "These.  Won't.  Come.  Out."  

I stifled a giggle.  Scott, unaware that I was watching him, started banging the box against the side of the aluminum boat.  GONG GONG GONG GONG.  I stifled another giggle and turned to look at Kim and Lyle.  The GONG had drawn their attention.  All eyes were now on Scott.  

He continued to bang the box against the side of the boat, mumbling to himself.  The ashes, having been in a bag in a box for over twenty years, had hardened into a solid mass and refused to come out.  Finally, Scott looked up at me.  He had a tiny grin on his face.  That was all it took.  The moment we made eye contact, we started laughing.  I heard Lyle join in, then Kim.  We laughed and laughed as Scott continued to bang the box against the side of the boat.  GONG GONG GONG GONG.  

"Does anyone have something I can jam in here to try and break these up?" he asked as he looked inside the box at the hardened lump of ash.  I had nothing.  Neither did Lyle.  

"All I have is a pair of scissors," offered Kim.  She handed them to Scott.  He took the scissors and proceeded to stab the ashes repeatedly, attempting to loosen them.  Every time he pulled the scissors out, the scissors brought ashes.  The wind would grab those ashes and blow them everywhere, all over the boat, our clothes, our backpacks, us.  We were in a snowstorm of ashes as we laughed and laughed.  

After several stabbings, Scott thought the ashes were finally loose enough to try pouring into the water.  He tipped the box, and GLOP GLOP, a few chunks came out, followed by SPLOOSH, the whole big chunk fell into the water and sank.  

I wiped the tears from my cheeks.  Kim and Lyle kept laughing at the absurdity of the whole thing.  Scott chuckled.  "If Dad is watching, he's laughing his ass off right now."