Today was a good day to honor the dead.
I slept pretty well, but got up earlier than I wanted considering how late I went to bed last night. Not that late, if I were in Mountain time, but it felt much later being in Eastern. More dreams, some more interesting than others. This is the second time since I started dreaming again that I remember dreaming of peeing, like fully emptying my bladder, but did not, in fact, pee in my sleep, which I’m both relieved and amused at.
The morning was pretty quiet. I went for a walk by myself, nice and fast in the cool morning air. The power had gone out soon after I woke up, so I did my morning journaling in Notepad so I wouldn’t risk losing anything from the connection not being connected. I could have journaled on my phone, but I was feeling the need for a keyboard. It’s easier to keep up with my thoughts when I can touch type instead of swipe type. With the swiping, I have to keep an eagle eye out for a mistaken word and that slows the flow of my thoughts.
Ambrose’s friend from school’s brother had a venue that he chose to allow us to use free of charge for a celebration of life. Both Bob and I set pictures out, and we brought three of my books along as well, the ones that feature him most (both coast books and the Moose Creek one – should have brought Frank Church Finale, oops). There weren’t a lot of people there, but everyone there had love in their hearts, whether they knew Ambrose well (or at all in the case of his school friend’s girlfriend) or not.
The venue was lovely. The food was delicious. I asked for Southern food, and I got it – there was some beef brisket that was perfect, and they even had fresh pickles the way Ambrose used to make them for me. Thin sliced and soaked in vinegar and sugar. Tasted like home. There was a cake, too, and other food, but mostly it was good to be around people and near the place where he spent some of his youth.
Afterwards, my family and his family drove over to the Cooper River at Pimlico where they used to live. I used my right hand to pour a handful of Ambrose’s ashes into the water. I took my time, letting the material flow between my fingers, and plume down to the water where it disappeared. There wasn’t much wind, so it didn’t blow back in my face or anything. I received comfort in turn from everyone there. My dad was close when I finished with that handful in the river, and I cried on him and with him. I think I left a handprint on his windbreaker, but that felt right. Sending Ambrose on with my family to keep them safe on their drive back tomorrow.
The next stop was Ambrose’s step-sister’s grave. She died at 17 in a car accident. He was close to her, and I believe they are together now. Watching over us all. I used my left hand, while kneeling, to spread what was left of the ashes I’d brought on her grave, just under the marker. His brother put his hand on the ashes and I put an arm around him. Then his sister came and hugged me after I’d stood back up. His dad’s unofficially adopted daughter stood as a squire to me and gives some of the best hugs I’ve had. I’m so glad my brother was there, and that I was wearing a shirt my sister-in-law gave me so I could feel her presence as well.
Ambrose was with us today, and Julie, too. I have let him go with both hands, and I will never let him go.
