being very brave together

It's taken me some time to write about this, for a number of reasons, not least of which is that, in over two weeks of being ill, I've tried to be very gentle with myself. The laundry, however, would NOT be put off any longer. Nor the floors. I've managed to squeeze my eyes shut in terms of the bathrooms, but denial only gets me so far (about two weeks' worth, as it turns out!).

I buried big Blake's ashes last Saturday. With help, because though I've known what I wanted to do with them for about three years now, that doesn't always translate to action. Especially when it seems like a big fat scary thing. Months ago, Rob asked how I felt about not moving Blake to the new house. I was confused for just a beat, until I realized he wasn't talking about the child who calls him "Dad," but the box filled with ashes in our closet. I agreed and quietly cried myself to sleep. Clearly, I needed the outside impetus to actually DO something, but it was still a hard thing to think about.

Inviting two friends, Terra and Kellie, we found a weekend that worked for all three of us. On Friday night, I pulled down the box and a figurine that I planned to bury with the ashes (more on that later). Blake was interested in seeing things, and he LOVED the figurine, which was funny because his dad really didn't like it (again, more on that later). Turns out ashes look like very fine grey dust with bigger particles, like kitty litter or sand, incorporated. It wasn't very scary, though upon wiggling the tightly-packed plastic bag free of the wooden box, I discovered a few pinprick holes, and very fine grey dust drifted down my pant leg, onto my foot, and across the coffee table.

I paused, then giggled a little and decided to wipe everything up with a dish cloth while praying God would give me an easy heart about this. Putting the slightly damaged bag into a bigger bag, I set the ashes and figurine on the desk, rounded up a backpack, two trowels, a book, and my camera, then sat and looked at the ashes and wondered at how a 200-pound body can be reduced to 20-30 pounds of dust. I remembered seeing big Blake's body in the casket and knowing instantly that while the container of my husband was there, my husband was gone. Of course, when I called Molly that night to let her know how I'd done, I simply said "It wasn't him." She gasped, and I immediately realized my mistake. "Oh no! They showed me the right casket. But he wasn't there. He's gone. And I never want to see the body without him again."

I looked over at a bag full of ashes and I cried and cried and cried, feeling abandoned by the man I loved.

When I woke up on Saturday, I was reminded that I am not a pretty crier, especially if I do so until sleep overtakes me. I looked like I'd been punched in the face, so I just washed that face and put a hat on. My friends came over and we got started (with coffee first, naturally). Kellie took the first turn with the heavy backpack, and she and I quickly realized that Terra - hiking-stick-toting-Terra - was going to whip our tails on this 4.5-miler. We were rained on as we laughed our way up the foothills, seeing bear sign and and one older couple running with no supportive garments under their Spandex.

Upon reaching the top, we rested on the bench for a while, and I told them parts of the story about how Blake had proposed there. We walked off-trail a short ways, found a patch of soft ground, and dug. I nestled the figurine at the bottom, and now you get that story.

For our wedding, we were given a figurine of a couple embracing (let's call it a Precious Moments figurine, on the off chance that the giver reads this, identifies the gift, and is hurt). Blake thought it was awful, not his taste at all. At the time, I liked it and displayed it defiantly. He would occasionally come up behind me and arrange my arms in the same way as the figurine, holding me in the same way the man in the figurine was standing. It became our joke. I stopped displaying it some time after his death, but didn't know what else to do with it. When the idea of what to do with the ashes crystallized for me, I knew I had to bury it with them. Because when I get to see Blake again in glory, we're going to laugh about this inside joke for all eternity. He's totally in on it, and that aspect of the weekend made me smile every time I thought about it.

I poured out the ashes over top, we held hands and prayed, and covered everything over with dirt. At Terra's suggestion from a few days earlier, I found twelve small stones and pressed them into the dirt, raising (well, sort of - they are quite small) my Ebenezer to remind me of God's faithfulness and help to me.

Joshua 4: 5-7 (emphasis mine)
So Joshua called the twelve men whom he had appointed from the sons of Israel, one man from each tribe; and Joshua said to them, “Cross again to the ark of the LORD your God into the middle of the Jordan, and each of you take up a stone on his shoulder, according to the number of the tribes of the sons of Israel. Let this be a sign among you, so that when your children ask later, saying, ‘What do these stones mean to you?’ then you shall say to them, ‘Because the waters of the Jordan were cut off before the ark of the covenant of the LORD; when it crossed the Jordan, the waters of the Jordan were cut off.’ So these stones shall become a memorial to the sons of Israel forever.”

We sat at the bench again, and I read them "Dragons and Giants," from Frog and Toad Together, which ends:

"Frog, I am glad to have a brave friend like you," said Toad. He jumped into bed and pulled the covers over his head.

"And I am happy to know a brave person like you, Toad," said Frog. He jumped into the closet and shut the door.

Toad stayed in the bed, and Frog stayed in the closet. They stayed there for a long time, just feeling very brave together.

And I thanked them for being very brave with me, and for helping me to write the ending to another chapter in my grief.