A few months after Charlie changed worlds, Harley and I decided to take some of his ashes to a favorite river spot. I’d been ready to release the ashes—and not wanting to let them go. To me, many of us failed Charlie in the last days and months of his life. I wanted to get this part of the story right.
I live in Auburn, California. It’s known as Gold Country because gold was first discovered there in the 1850s. The rivers continues to sparkle with flecks of gold although the big chunks of gold that made people wealthy have long been mined from the waters and land.
Navigating grief and discussions of dying since Charlie left this world was a delicate dance, especially with Harley and Charlie’s young daughters, Sunny and Ray, ages five and four. There was talk of heaven but no conversations about what happens to a body when someone leaves it to relocate to heaven. We definitely didn’t tell them his body was cremated and put into five eco-friendly packages to be released in places that were important to Charlie.
On the day we decided to release some of Charlie’s ashes in Auburn, we didn’t tell the girls what we were doing. The plan was a hike and swim at the river with the girls and then Harley and I would quietly offer some of his ashes.
On the drive to the river with the ashes tucked in a bag on my lap, out of the blue Ray asked me to tell stories about her daddy. So I told a funny story about when we were on a flight to Florida when Charlie was six and he ate multicolored candy, drank a Sprite, and then got sick and vomited a rainbow. The girls laughed.
“Too much candy will make you sick,” I said to them as Sunny unwrapped some sweet tarts.
Then Ray asked me why daddy died. I wasn’t ready for the question.
“Because…his heart…stopped working,” I said. “All our hearts will eventually stop working. We are all born and we will all die.”
I’m looking at Harley trying to think of a way to turn the conversation around. And I’m pretty sure I’m saying everything wrong.
“Our hearts are strong, but daddy’s heart got sick.”
Sunny stopped putting the candy in her mouth.
We parked and started hiking down to the river. Sunny slowly dropped her sweet tarts one by one on the trail getting more upset along the way. The closer we got to the river the more she cried but she couldn’t tell us why. I’m sure my story in the car didn’t help.
On the hike, I thought maybe we should wait and release the ashes another day—when Sunny wasn’t crying and when I say the right words instead of the wrong ones in a car filled with the confusion of grief. Plus, we didn't really have a plan on how to release the ashes.
When we got to the river, we set out towels and some toys—small plastic shovels to dig in the sand and a bottle of bubbles. I left the bag of ashes in my basket. Then we went swimming and the cool river water soothed our tender hearts. After the swim, I gave the girls flower petals to offer to the river with my silent prayers and blessings for Charlie. Sunny dropped the petals in one by one, still crying but not letting us console her. Ray threw a handful of flowers and then went back to the towel to play with the bottle of bubbles. Harley walked down the edge of the river. I didn’t realize that she had the ashes.
As the flower petals flowed towards Harley, I watched her open the bag and pour the ashes through her hands into the river. Sunny ran towards her. I held my breath. Even though the girls didn’t know what was happening, as the ashes swirled into the water and floated away, Sunny watched and then she stopped crying.
We all felt a shift.
Then Ray said, “I don’t want to die, I want to be alive,” and she started blowing bubbles so that, “Daddy can see them in heaven.”
It was the first time, I’d seen the ashes outside of the bags they were in. It was one of those intimate moments where I wanted to look away and also wanted to see what was left of my son. I admired the vulnerability of Harley to touch those last pieces of Charlie. They had fallen in love seven years earlier when Charlie was twenty and Harley was eighteen—and now their love story was ending in a river flecked with gold.
That day I discovered that in being willing to do it wrong and to not have a plan, sometimes it turns out just right. The gentle flow of water and the energy of a breath sending bubbles to heaven took a really hard moment of letting go and turned it into something special that I will hold onto forever.
Thank you for being here. My hope as a storyteller is to invite you into the challenging moments of being human so you can find the place of connection and compassion for yourself and others. Every Wednesday, I offer a writing prompt for paid subscribers to Substack along with occasional bonuses like free screenings of films. The first Wednesday of every month I offer the prompt to all Substack subscribers.
Upcoming Breathwork & Writing Workshop (Auburn, California)
Saturday, September 21, 2024 9am to 12.30pm
If you’ve been thinking about writing about your life, this workshop will offer clarity even if you don’t consider yourself a writer. The workshop begins with breathwork with Michael Stephens to drop into deeper layers of connection, followed by writing with Betsy Murphy. You’ll leave with ten days of writing prompts to continue writing your hero story. No writing or breathwork experience is needed. This workshop is being held at The Hero Journey, 605 High St Auburn, CA 95603
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If you need more inspiration for your writing, the book Write On: A Daily Writing Practice for Anyone with a Story to Tell has 365 days of writing prompts.
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