Fast Food and Sacred Rituals - a Follow-up to Ashes

After reading my last entry, Ashes - Excerpt from Fierce Love, a few friends asked whether Rickie's ashes were indeed scattered by the rock above the alpine lake.

Within days of the funeral, Mom's remains were returned in a black cardboard box. Her explicit instructions were that we not waste money on a beautiful urn which would sit on the mantel. Just put her in a plastic bag, she said.

So we ended up with a cardboard box.

It didn't sit on the mantel. My dad didn't want to see it so he told my sister to just put it somewhere. She chose a spot in a glass cabinet among some of my mother’s cherished knick knacks. Two years later, Dad phoned my sister and asked where it was. He was ready.

Unfortunately, Dad's health had declined to a point where he could no longer hike to the predetermined spot at the alpine lake. He told us to go ahead and do it without him. After some discussion, we decided that Mom wouldn't mind if we didn't carry out her wishes exactly. More meaningful to Dad, and much more accessible for this and future visits, was a larger lake at a lower altitude surrounded by a flat path. Mom had often hiked there. It reminded him of her, so it became our choice for the scattering.

Referring to towering Rocky Mountain peaks, my dad remarked that there couldn't be a more spectacular tombstone.

At the shore, a friendly female duck looking on, it became evident that he couldn't hold his cane, balance the box, and maneuver the ashes. We needed something smaller with which to move the contents from the box to the ground. Mom would have been prepared for this, probably producing an old measuring cup from her fanny pack.

Thinking quickly, I ran back to my car, going out of my way not to trip over the duck who was inching closer, perhaps thinking that our box contained breadcrumbs or something. I retrieved an Arby's cup from which I had just slogged down a diet coke. We could pour ash into the cup and Dad could spill it around as he pleased. As we poured the first batch into the fast food cup, he said sadly, "She hated Arbys."

I often wonder what happens after death. I believe in eternal life, but I don't know what it looks like or whether our deceased loved ones can see us. But I'm sure of one thing: the moment we used a paper cup from Arbys to carry out this solemn ritual, no one was laughing harder than my mother.

With that duck following us the whole time, we circled the lake, stopping every few yards so one of us could pour some ash into the cup which Dad would then pour on the shore, by a boulder, or at the base of a tree.

Next weekend, we'll drive Dad up to the lake and walk around it. I think he's comforted knowing that someday his ashes will join hers in that majestic setting.

We may want to stop at Wendy's on the way.