In and Out of the Mystic

The seven of us headed out of Northern Colorado. The mood was languid with an eagerness to get out on the road. We were both mentally spent, physically exhausted and very certainly sleep deprived. The sleep deprivation added to the surreal poetic nature to the our days honoring Marilyn.  We had spent the last few days packing the last of my wife’s mother’s possessions. That is a bit of an understatement as we lifted furniture, packed boxes, hauled trash to the dump and shredded the hell out of documents. The brunt of the work was done by the immediate family going through sentimental items such as vintage  photographs, artwork, plenty of books and the keepsakes Marilyn collected over the years. There were plenty of smiles and few tears lost into the dry hot Colorado air.

As we headed into the majesty that is Wyoming, we took in a road sign sign that read “No Services for the next 78 miles.” That sign was a foreshadowing of the absolute remoteness that is Wyoming. I didn’t drive much on this trip as I do not like to drive and my family doesn’t like my driving. Still whether driving or simply looking out the window at occasional prairie dogs or thunderstorms on the horizon, car travel is draining. The human body prefers movement and activity. Colorado faded into the rear view mirror and we silently slid across the sagebrush painted prairie of Wyoming.

Six hours later we entered the town of NewCastle, Wyoming thinking about getting some real food in our stomachs. The sun was quickly sinking in the western sky as daylight faded into the grassland prairie on the horizon.  This was Marilyn’s favorite, a road trip and the grasslands of Wyoming . The decision of what came next was entirely up to them as it should be. The decision was to head to the grasslands to scatter Marilyn’s ashes.

The seven of us started driving out a deserted road heading slowly into the vast emptiness that is Wyoming. We marveled at the stark beauty of the sky and the patterns etched within. The clouds were stratus and cumulus and the quietness of the countryside was deafening.   The car ride was quiet, somber and reflective. We spotted a rise on the horizon that teemed with possibility. A sunset of deep purple and escaping sunbeams was an hour away.

We came up to a road that headed further into the the vast green and muted purple of the grasslands of Wyoming. We took a left onto Mush Creek road. I have no idea of the name if the road we turned off from.

We drove west and we were greeted by brilliant yellow wild sunflowers that seemed to be catching the last rays of this sparkling midsummer day. We drove over a crest on the deserted road and headed back down the western side. By silent consensus, we quietly turned the car around and inched back toward the crest we just passed.

Without a sound, we exited the car and looked at the broad expanse of the sky and the surrounding grassland. The evening breeze played in the Wyoming grass. A night hawk flew over with a grace that matched the evening. We watched the flight of the noble bird, and we were in absolute peace that we had picked the perfect resting spot for Marilyn.  Marilyn rested comfortably somewhere content with our choice.

We each picked sunflowers from the side of the road and gathered in a nearly perfect semi circle.  We stood wordlessly listening to the wind along what was remaining of the fading dusk sky.  James, the youngest son, unceremoniously, placed a metal basting pan in the middle of our circle. Some of us held hands, and plenty of hugs and tears were exchanged.

Jenna and Mel, produced letters that they had witten days before. The plan was to burn these letters so they could be with the ashes we were about to spread, The pleasant grassland breeze persisted so that it took some artful deception and scattered dead prairie grass to ignite the fire.

Without a hush, we walked over to a spot off the road to spread the ashes. Once again we gathered around a less than perfect circle. Spreading ashes of a loved one is something we never train or prepare for.

We all dropped sooty ashes on the dry wind beaten soil.  Then James innocently tossed the last large plume of ash on the ground something happened beyond my spiritual belief or just plain serendipity. A white butterfly softly emerged from beneath the sentiment we left behind and fluttered into the grasslands. We then layed down our sunflowers to rest.

As the sun dramatically dipped into the western sky, we all took turns sharing special remembrances and  reflections of a mother, a critic and a beloved friend. Our daughter read sweet stories that reflected the beautiful relationship between a grandmother and granddaughter. I was simply thankful to be part of the experience and this family.

Tears were shed as we stood silently. The sun sank behind vibrant deep purple clouds.

I was once told by my pastor when I questioned the existence of a higher being that my disbelief was understandable. He said to me, “Mark have you ever heard a story or a piece of music that moved you to tears?”

I answered that of course I have.

He said “Well that is God.”

We were absolutely silent as we drove slowly, quietly back on Mush Creek Rd. We then made the left turn back to where we were staying for the night. It is there in the car that a song started to play on the radio that shook me to the core and made my spine tingle.  I believe it was the same for everybody else in the car except they knew the song was coming. They had played this song weeks earlier as Marilyn passed into the great beyond.  I have never heard a song played at the most perfect time and the most perfect place. Some would describe this as the existence of a higher power.