Overlooking
I won't say that hosting Monshu's West Coast memorial "closed a chapter" of my story of mourning or anything since life is not a movie. Rather, it confirmed my impression of where I'm at already. In the twelve days I was on vacation, I only cried three times: when emptying the last of his cremains into a smaller bag for eventual scattering in Europe; when listening to Arcade Fire's "Afterlife" while high as fuck; and when viewing a Japanese cultural display at the Burke Museum. I had plenty of other moments of, "I wish he were here for this" but they passed over me without completely shifting my emotions.
I hadn't originally planned to keep any ashes at all. His sister requested a small portion for an artist friend to make into glass beads and it occurred to me that it might be nice to keep a bit myself in case I ever make it to the Clan Campbell seat in Scotland. I knew I'd spill some in the transfer so I chose a spot on their property of significance to me: the foundation of the former deck attached to his mother's old house where I knew he'd spent many tranquil mornings over the years during his annual trips to see her. We'd stayed in the house during my only other trip out there (for her funeral) and I insisted on taking a walk through it, though it's only used for storage now.
It was beautiful perfect day at the overlook in Crescent City where we did the scattering. I hadn't slept well (and got myself so dehydrated that I passed out waiting on a lighthouse tour), which tends to make me lachrymose, but I was dry-eyed even when comforting his sister. I thought I might need to tap someone else to read the Heart Sutra; I got through it easily. (Not only did I practice it for the previous memorial, I read it aloud sometimes for comfort when I have a bad night.) It touched me to discover later that Monshu's nephew had insisted on his boys (7 and 10) being present; I think it was probably their first memorial service.
But probably the best indication of where I'm at now is, sad to say, my impatience with other widows. I nearly left one online group because of a dust-up over conceptions of the afterlife. (One of the members accused me of being deliberately cruel.) At the recommendation of a Friend, I joined another, but I scroll past the posts. Everyone seems stuck at stages I passed a long time ago. I keep reminding myself this is because of how privileged I was: plenty of warning, Monshu cogent until the end, easily fulfilling his last requests, etc. Regardless, I find myself without much to say to those in deeper grief right now.
We'll see what it's like when I see my brother's mother-in-law this evening. She's coming up on her one-year anniversary. Her family didn't want her to be alone while they visited the Grand Canyon so she's visiting![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bunj and e. and she specifically requested to spend some time with me. I suspect it will be much different relating to someone about these things in person.
I hadn't originally planned to keep any ashes at all. His sister requested a small portion for an artist friend to make into glass beads and it occurred to me that it might be nice to keep a bit myself in case I ever make it to the Clan Campbell seat in Scotland. I knew I'd spill some in the transfer so I chose a spot on their property of significance to me: the foundation of the former deck attached to his mother's old house where I knew he'd spent many tranquil mornings over the years during his annual trips to see her. We'd stayed in the house during my only other trip out there (for her funeral) and I insisted on taking a walk through it, though it's only used for storage now.
It was beautiful perfect day at the overlook in Crescent City where we did the scattering. I hadn't slept well (and got myself so dehydrated that I passed out waiting on a lighthouse tour), which tends to make me lachrymose, but I was dry-eyed even when comforting his sister. I thought I might need to tap someone else to read the Heart Sutra; I got through it easily. (Not only did I practice it for the previous memorial, I read it aloud sometimes for comfort when I have a bad night.) It touched me to discover later that Monshu's nephew had insisted on his boys (7 and 10) being present; I think it was probably their first memorial service.
But probably the best indication of where I'm at now is, sad to say, my impatience with other widows. I nearly left one online group because of a dust-up over conceptions of the afterlife. (One of the members accused me of being deliberately cruel.) At the recommendation of a Friend, I joined another, but I scroll past the posts. Everyone seems stuck at stages I passed a long time ago. I keep reminding myself this is because of how privileged I was: plenty of warning, Monshu cogent until the end, easily fulfilling his last requests, etc. Regardless, I find myself without much to say to those in deeper grief right now.
We'll see what it's like when I see my brother's mother-in-law this evening. She's coming up on her one-year anniversary. Her family didn't want her to be alone while they visited the Grand Canyon so she's visiting
bunj and e. and she specifically requested to spend some time with me. I suspect it will be much different relating to someone about these things in person.