I made it through this last day, and my dad’s ashes are in an untreated box of soft wood, in his small-town Episcopal church’s memorial garden. That part of him will eventually become part of the garden.
It means so much to me when my loved ones are allowed to rejoin the earth.
It helps.
My youngest niece stood next to my crying stepmom and proactively held her hand during the short outdoor service, and then hugged and leaned into me after we’d each added dirt.
“We’re supporting each other” she told me, as she held on. And: Yes, always.
I’m glad I have people worth loving.
