Scattered

               A finale on my mom’s death 20 years ago that I mentioned in the last entry.   I brought her ashes home to California and we scattered them in Death Valley, on Independence Day.   We climbed Dante’s Peak overlooking Bad Water (the lowest point in the USA), Funeral Ridge, and Starvation Gulch—and let her go in 130 degrees of heat.   The blast furnace from below on the desert floor disappeared mom.   I didn’t just want to think her grief.  I wanted to feel it.   And so I did, so we did, Bethyl and I together.

 Did you know your body amounts to about 20 handfuls of ash and dust?  When we let go of dust, we then have empty hands to receive eternity.