And The Thunder Rolls

On this day one year ago a small group of family and friends gathered to celebrate Anthony's life by scattering his ashes.  It was an overcast Sunday morning and the sky threatened rain from the moment we set out.  But rain was not in the forecast. Curious.  
It was the last day of winter and the wind was sharp.  It blew from the north all of that day.  

Our group met at the cemetery where Anthony had previously buried his brother, Hans, then his father, Joe, followed by his brother, Trin, and finally his mother, Ellen.  I was by his side for all but one of those good byes.  Anthony was the last of his family to die. Only his mother lived past retirement age, to 72.The rest of them passed at a much younger age - Hans at 18, Joe at 62 and Trin at 31.  I now believe Anthony always knew, deep down, that he would not live a long life.  In hindsight I think he prepared me for that during our entire marriage and his aim was to make sure the kids and I were well cared for following his death.

I had asked my dear friend, Shelly, to select some bible passages and poems to read at all of our stops.  When we left the cemetery we headed to Anthony's favorite duck hunting spot at our friend Aaron's lake.  In the 20 minute drive the clouds became darker and darker and as we pulled up to park, the sky opened up and poured rain.  There was thunder and lightning, and the wind blew hard the entire time.  It was a storm that came from nowhere.  We sat in our vehicles and talked via text and cell phone while we waited for the rain to clear out.  Later we learned that the storm clouds had popped up over a very limited part of rural Howard County, where we just happened to be.  The storm came and just as quickly it was gone.  Again, curious.

When the skies cleared, we all got out of our cars and followed Aaron through the fields, now made extremely muddy.  I felt that Anthony had a great chuckle as we slogged through the mud. That was exactly his type of humor.  We walked a long way until we arrived at the favored spot.  Shelly read scripture then we took turns scattering Anthony's ashes and telling a favorite story.  The photo above has the duck lake in the background.  I am glad that we could smile in the midst of an experience that was incredibly hard.

We ended our trek at the cemetery near Rocheport.  Most of my family members on both sides now reside in that cemetery.  Though it was Anthony's wish to be cremated and he cared little about a final resting place for part of his remains, it was important to me to have a place for our family and friends to honor his memory and to visit moving forward.

Anthony and Ben spent many hours in that cemetery helping my dad and others with its upkeep and maintenance.  It is a beautiful and peaceful spot halfway between Columbia and Fayette.  There are stones in the cemetery that date back to the early 1800's.  Some stones, with inscriptions scrubbed away from weather and time, may be even older.  

The cemetery sits on a hill overlooking the church where my great grandparents, grandparents, my dad and his siblings attended for many years until the congregation either died off or moved away.  After sitting vacant for quite some time, a new congregation has revitalized the church.  Other than the noise of people visiting and filing in or out of church on Sunday and the occasional sound of a car motor on the two lane highway that separates the church from the cemetery, little can be heard but the sounds of nature. The rustle of trees in the wind, the chirp of birds and squirrels.  And sometimes, the sound of complete silence.  Anthony would like that, very much.

It was not until we were close to leaving the cemetery that the clouds parted and the sun finally started to come out.  The north wind stayed consistently at our backs for the day but the sun shone high in the sky with no more rain clouds in sight.  It was Anthony's way of telling us to put the past behind us, to move forward from the darkness and cold of winter and to look forward to a new beginning, the first day of spring.  It was also his way of telling us that we were going to be ok.

Anthony always said he wanted to be cremated and have his ashes scattered in a cold north wind so that each time I felt the wind on the back of my neck, I would think of him. And I do, every single time. A year has gone by, 365 full days have passed and we have all come a long way in that time.  Time helps and time heals.  Time makes the memories more sweet and less painful.  Best of all, time offers hope - the hope of renewal and that somehow, someway, better days lie ahead.

Tomorrow is another new beginning, another first day of spring, another promise of awakening and new life to come.  I look forward to that.  But today, I honor Anthony's memory and the memory of that last day of winter when we told his physical presence goodbye.  

I awoke today to an overcast sky.  Rain fell for much of the day, a cold, driving winter rain.   There was no thunder or lightning this time but the wind was strong and it blew all day.  And, no surprise to me, that strong wind came from the north.  Curious...

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.

- M.E. Frye