Yesterday I scattered my husband’s ashes.  I had them over a week and only managed to lose them for a few hours. (Remember, you heard it here first.)  They were on my mantle, just awaiting “the feeling”...when I would know, in my gut, it was the day to do it..

Yesterday morning I woke up, pulled back the drapes and could see what a WOWSA day we had.  My first thought was, Lance would be sunning himself today.  This could be the day!  It was perfect.

I poured my one cup of coffee and grabbed some cinnamon rolls and climbed back into to bed.  I needed to write his obituary.  Yes, I have let that slide.  I wish he’d have written his own.  He would have known what to say.  

I had to write my mother’s obit five years ago.  Not fun at all.  I like to think of writing as fun or at the very least enjoyable.  But I banged hers out pretty easily.

I must have started his obituary twenty times.  Echos of the words I heard, from the lady at the newspaper, kept filling my brain, “Nothing too flowery, nothing too long, just the facts.  You may use the word beloved.”

How in the world does a writer do an obit about a man she loved deeply for half of her life and only get to use beloved?  Let’s see...

1. On August 28, 2009 the beloved husband of....oh yuck!  Again...

2. Beloved son, husband and brother to a family devastated by his loss....yuck!

3. The world will be a lesser place now that Lance has seen fit to make his exit after a short, unexpected illness.  His beloved sense of humor, his charm and ability to touch all who came into contact with him... whether adversarial or a friend, all is a part of the legacy he leaves behind.  Let’s face it, his heart was just too large for mere mortals, he had a higher purpose.  Yuck!

4.  Devastation doesn’t begin to describe the littered landscape of Sheila’s emotions now that she has lost her beloved Lance. He set the gold standard for men. True but yuck!

5.  Though he didn’t believe there was anything after you die, I kind of hope my beloved was wrong.  Yuck!

I think it was then I realized this obit thing wasn’t going to happen, at least yet.  

I gazed out of the windows, the clear blue sky, the raggedy mountain landscape jutting upwards and I realized, today is the day.

I took a shower, applied some lip gloss and mascara and threw on a long green jersey racerback dress.  I knew he’d love it because it isn’t black, also because it was very casual.  Not that Lance had anything against black, but the earth tone seemed appropriate for a scattering.  I squirted some of his Obsession ™ after shave on and took a deep breath.  I slipped into some silvery flip-flops and grabbed that ugly “gray suit” they "clothed" him in and headed outside.

But first the tape.  Good grief, they used so much scotch tape to keep the pop-up lid down (which sort of defeats things).  I find a letter opener to slice through it and flip the lid open.  (I know he’d want me to find a joke in there somewhere.)  Then my mind began to wander.  I thought of how much easier it would have been if I had chosen the “Baseball Urn”.

I could see it in my mind as I walk over to the edge of the lawn, dressed in his Andre Ethier shirt and hear Vinnie’s voice in my head...”..and we have the windup...”  as I do my best windup with the ash-filled baseball and let ‘er rip.  It goes 30 feet before it drops and does a bounce off of the dirt, cracking open and scattering his ashes.  Ahhh, he’d love that!

But no, I didn’t have a baseball urn to toss out.  So that fantasy ended and the reality of the plastic bag of ashes needed to be scattered. I know the pop-up lid could easily have had a windup handle, and then with a twist could have had a “Jack-in-the-box” pop up and hand me the bag.”  He loved the Jack-in-the-Box advertising guy.  Even had a bobble-head of him standing on his desk.  Surely another fitting way to do it.

But no...I could not get the tightly bound plastic knot loose to open the bag, so I thought about how I decorate a cake...fill a baggie and snip off a corner.  

So that’s what I did grabbed my scissors and snipped a corner off of the bag...not too big not to small.  I solemnly walked out to the small garden by the spa, the precise place he spent hours sunning himself, and held the bag gingerly as I let a stream of his ashes make their way to the flower bed.  Daisy heads turned their faces-up as slowly the trickle of my love danced on the air towards them.  Now I understand the phrase "Pushing up Daisies"....but first comes the rain of ashes.

A red tailed hawk swooped down and tilted our way, as in deference to the moment.

I continued to walk as the ashes fell around the perimeter of our lawn.  

Finally he had a permanent, sweeping view of the valley, and the last of his ashes caught the wind and blew around my oak tree as I sat on the bench and bid him adieu for the last time.  My word to him was kept, and his loving arms would be circling our beloved home.  I felt a peace and satisfaction.  I hope he feels it too.  

Goodbye my love...gone... but never forgotten.