Perfectio…
Et de novo incipimus.
“Completion... And we begin anew.”
“The world and the gods are dead or alive according to the condition of our souls. While these worlds of night and hope are within us, we also live within them.”
~ James Hillman
So began our final gathering in our goodbye/hello to Dad’s earthly incarnation. Sunday morning, just after a March 16th dawn, in the midst of twining season and among the stillness of place and the voiced songs of birds, we reunited the remains of both our parents: mom and dad, grandma and grandpa, auntie and uncle, Ann and Wally; and then solemnly returned their ashes to their place of origin: Mother Earth.
Dad’s immediate family gathered together on an overcast (but not rainy!), still, cool, and beautiful morning at Holy Rosary cemetery. This place of sacred soil is very beautiful and serene for how it is situated amidst Moxee’s landscape of farmland. Mom and dad’s gravesite rests on a gentle slope that overlooks the rest of the Yakima valley including its surrounding hillsides. Even though they are NOT in that place and plot of earth, their gravesite can and will serve as a lovely reminder and memorial that they were here, on that land, and farmed it well by raising a beautiful family…and lots of hops! We will return to visit this site; and every time we do, we will remember and we will be blessed by presence.
We gathered, we weeped, we laughed, we told some stories (with SO many more to be shared in our futures), and we surfaced blessings and souls amidst this place of ancestors and the Anima Mundi (the Soul of the Earth). Even though each of us also brought within us our own, personal and unique sorrow, we also surfaced joy and light and healing. The flowers we held and infused with our blessings, the letters we wrote to both mom and Dad, the Eagle feathers with which we consecrated their remains and their grave (thank you Anthony!), and the hops we brought (thank you Janelle!), were all added to the grave to nourish and enrich the surrounding soil. And then Trevor and I, with Clary bearing solemn witness, placed their vault, containing both urns, in its place of final rest.
We did it right; we did it all right. It was a perfect morning, a perfect weekend.
And we did Dad proud.
We didn’t take many pictures choosing instead to be 100% present to the moment.
We also did not record this ritual. And I will not enclose any of the formal words and informal/impromptu memories we gave voice to, choosing instead to allow all those words to stay inscribed in our hearts and in the clay of the ground we stood on—with the exception of one thing included at the bottom of this post. Our voices joined the songs of the birds as we reminded ourselves that Dad very likely felt this same crispness of air, and heard this same avian chorus, every time he stepped out of the house Sunday mornings at dawn, before 8am mass, to check his fields and set/reset his irrigation. And pull a weed or two.
Both mom and dad, now, are among our pantheon of ancestors. If there was ever a time to feel the presence of soul, we felt it then. And it was quite lovely. Both mom and dad can, should, and will continue to elder us as we also look to new patriarchs (looking at you Clary! Remember, I’m still waiting for my Birds and Bees convo!) and elders among us to guide our lives with their much earned wisdom. May we ourselves be smart enough to seek for them, ask them questions—and then listen. And watch what they do; watch how they carry themselves in this world. I believe each of us has an obligation to carry kindness forward, as modeled by my Dad; to do our part to make this world a better place for all beings including the land—our Mother Earth.
Dad did that for us. We formally celebrated that, and him, for three days last weekend. So now it’s our turn.
We can do it.
So we shall.
Right?
At our ritual/ceremony, we heard from the many voices of Dad’s descendants. And the final voices we heard were fittingly from Dad’s grandkids as they gave voice to the following poem by Brother David Steindl-Rast—each grandchild voicing a chosen phrase in turn. We imagined it was Dad, through his grandchildren’s voices, giving us a valuable Eldering to carry us on into our futures.
The voices, just like all else that preceded it, were beautiful.
PS: Next week, we eat oatmilk strawberry ice cream! If you’re going to join us in this small ritual, guidance will come Monday—we will perform our shared digital ritual on Wednesday (March 26). Okay, all you non-vegans (so sad for you!) can partake of “real” ice cream—but you really should try the oatmilk kind! Dad did…and he loved it; mainly ‘cuz he had no choice.
“Death is the end of a lifetime. Not the end of a relationship.”
~ Mitch Album (writing in Tuesdays With Morrie)
Now, we begin anew.
❤️❤️❤️ just loved reading about the weekend. We look forward to being part of the ceremony next Wednesday and I 100% agree, Oatly Strawberry 🍓 ice cream is the absolute BEST!
A Good Day and a Good Beginning.