Ashes to Ashes

My father finally joined his mother on a lovely stretch of land overlooking the Puget Sound.  Always thought I'd be with my uncle spreading my father's ashes.  Odd turn of events.  Regret not getting here sooner, my trip was planned for three weeks too late.  We watered them with scotch, honoring a tradition started by my uncle.  The sun was setting on a beautiful summer day, my heart sagged with emotion.  Exhaustion was setting in as I continued to process the sudden chain of events.  I pictured my father and uncle fifteen years earlier, in the same spot, 22 paces in front of the bench, digging a hole in the earth for my grandmother.  My father most likely did the digging along with some swearing.  Most certain there was laughter.  Death brings out one's funny bone.  I don't know what happens when the body no longer exists.  I like to think there's more, the energy continues on, and so I thought of my father that night reunited with his family, perhaps having a clearer sense of what transpired when they were in the human form. 

It's only it retrospect the absurd comes into focus.  My brother's car died after he arrived from Portland two days earlier.  And instead of dealing with it by getting a new battery, we fully embraced that we would need a jump in order to start the car.  So on this particular day, we jumped the car three times and popped the clutch once.  The absence of normal described my days in Seatte.