Dropping Mom at the Beach

ashes and sand

No one tells you what to wear when scattering your mom’s ashes. My first instinct was to dress up for the occasion. It was Thanksgiving after all. But if you knew her, you understand how ridiculous of a sentiment that is. I can count on one hand (and that’s being generous) how many times she dressed up in the course of a year.

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We picked her up a week earlier. Upon receiving the black lacquer box containing a baggie of what used to be my mom, my dad and I immediately quipped, “Oh, she’s so compact! She would be pleased that she weighs less than she did when you got married.” 

Some families treat this as a somber occasion. We are not one.

When told that there was a dog tag in the box, I replied in all seriousness, “Great, we’ll put it with the tags that we have from all of the dogs.” Meanwhile, my dad wondered if it were resting on top of the ashes or toward the bottom like a Cracker Jack surprise.

I had no expectations of what emotions might accompany this activity. It’s kind of a one time deal. All I knew was that I didn’t want to be facing the wind when we dispersed her remains. 

Eventually I decided on a Skyline sweatshirt.

It wasn’t what my mom would have called a “good sweatshirt,” a distinction she had for the very best of the variety in her closet. Nevertheless, it felt fitting. The cobalt blue brightened up an otherwise dreary day. The embroidery of the Skyline logo reminded me of the countless lunches we enjoyed at the Oakley Skyline, for her the only valid location.

“Mom’s already in the car,” noted my dad as I pulled on my boots. She had been there for the past week. We couldn’t really figure out where to put her and thought she might enjoy riding around, as much as a baggie of ashes can.

On the drive to the beach, my dad marveled, “We should probably say something.” Pause. “She was a good mom.” That was it. His words summed up everything.

As we arrived, my dad positioned me out of the wind and instructed me to stay put. Again, wind plus ashes is not an ideal mix. He pulled her out of the shiny box — the tag was at the top, for those wondering — and tucked her into the sand. She has a great view where she’ll be able to watch many sunsets to come.

It’s funny how these things matter even though I know unequivocally that Mom isn’t even there. She’s still off roaming the cosmos. Much like my choice of sweatshirt, this was the right choice. Enjoy your sunsets, Mom.

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P.S. I double checked before publishing. It is absolutely legal to scatter remains in Michigan, particularly on private property.