Number 58

Autumn in New England (part I)

I am writing this in a Starbucks in Lebanon, NH. Sounds pretty normal, right? Except for the fact that I live in Mankato, Minnesota. What am doing here? Did I get lost somewhere? Did my map app lead me to drive into a lake? (That's what she said). No, No, and two obvious references to episodes of the Office (more on that later).

I'm here on purpose. Not the Starbucks necessarily, but New England. Why? Good question, and if I can force myself to stop distracting my narrative with thin attempts at humor, I'll tell you. But first let me tell you why I'm deflecting from this entry's stated purpose. This one's going to take me to places I don't like to go, and I'm using humor to try and keep me away. But here goes...

One of the great intimacies of being in relationship with another person are the late night, after the lights are out, conversations. Sometimes they're silly: "Honey, would you rather be a llama or a giraffe?" Sometimes they're profound: "Honey, do you think we'll survive the Trump presidency?" Sometimes they're about the state of the relationship questions: "Honey, are you happy with me?" (This type of conversation is a little scary, and feigning sleep to avoid it, while chickenshit, is occasionally allowed). Then there are the death questions. "If I die, do you think you'll remarry?" or "What should I do with your body, if you die before me?"

Interestingly enough, these "death" questions (and the conversations they engender), aren't as macabre as they sound. Sometimes they're funny, and can lead to fits of giggles (God forbid you laugh out loud and wake the kids!), and other times they can be thoughtful and loving. They're rarely hurtful or scary. I suppose the point I'm trying to make is that the answers to these questions are rarely definitive. At least in my case that's true.

Rebecca died on February 14, 2016. Valentine's Day, if you're keeping score at home. I left her at the hospital the previous evening promising to be back the next day. Even at that late point, no one, not even the doctor's knew how sick she was. Well, I did see her the next day, but she was unconscious and dying, so our ability to converse was somewhat limited. (I'm sorry about the sarcasm, it sometimes takes on a life of its own). In any event, and the entire purpose for this post, she and I never had a definitive, "what should I do with your remains?" type of conversation. I knew she wished to be cremated, but beyond that: zip, nada, nothing.

The next day at the mortuary, my friend Steve propped me up long enough to help me decide on a simple oaken box for her ashes. I had enough sense to know that she would not have approved of anything more elaborate than that. I'm sure she would have found most of the urns I could have selected to be more than a tad ostentatious. If you knew Rebecca, I am betting you know this to be true. She was not about flash - she was about substance.

When I brought her ashes home, they took up residence on the fire place mantle. It surprised me that
I felt comforted by their presence. However, this never felt 'final' to me. I always felt the she deserved something a little bit better than the fire place mantle, even if I did find solace in them. Emma and Grace were each given a portion of their mother's ashes, so that she would continue to be with them, in body as well as spirit. But other than that, I struggled to come up with a worthwhile idea. Of course, part of the problem was the fact that, at the time, I was living a life dominated by shock and grief. (Not a good place for innovative thinking or planning, I can tell you.)

So there they sat until about a little over a year ago. An idea fell into my head already fully formed. In other words, it wasn't really my idea. Somebody just "unscrewed my skull cap" and dropped their idea inside. (Thankfully they screwed my skull cap back on before they left.) The idea went something like this: Rebecca had lived in five different places in her lifetime, and through her grit, determination, heart, decency, ability to reach out, and the sheer goodness of her soul, she had imbued these places with deep meaning. I was to visit those five places and leave some of her ashes at each so that her spirit in those places would continue to live on and on and on.

I originally planned this trip for last summer, but then I chickened-out, and then I got distracted. At an Ousley family reunion last August, Her family and I DID distribute some of her ashes in some woods where she often ran as a youth. This took place in her hometown of Marshfield, Wisconsin. I struggled to say something profound in the moment, but speaking extemporaneously has never been a strong suit. I hope the others gathered don't hold that against me. On the other hand, she was back in a place where she had run swiftly among the trees without a hint of the cancer that was in her future. That felt good.

Finally, during the recently passed summer, I made the decision to finish the task. Logistically, this meant a trip to New England, because three of the "Rebecca Places" were located there. (1) New Hampshire. Rebecca lived here for ten years after she graduated. She worked at Dartmouth-Hitchcock hospital, and she loved being outside as often as she could exploring the wilds of NH. So to, her sister Sarah and Sarah's young family lived nearby. (2) New Haven, CT. Rebecca and I met and were married there. We started our family there too, when Emma came along. And (3) Bangor, ME. We moved there from New Haven and lived there for 13 years. Grace was born there. (The fifth place was/is Mankato. I finally decided it was OK for a portion of her ashes to remain on the mantle.)

I decided to drive, so that I could take my time. Not to "savor" it like you would do with something enjoyable, but to treat it with the reverence it and she deserve. I'm about half way through the trip right now, as I sit in this Starbucks. I'm going to edit the title now, and add "part I" to it, as this has already gotten lengthy. "Part II" will follow shortly where I tell you how things have gone so far. (Short preview: don't ever stay at the "Red Carpet Inn and Suites" in Scranton, PA). I'm amazed at the way I have been moved by my journey - far beyond the emotions stirred up by taking care of Rebecca's ashes. I now realize that this trip, for me, is about much more than that. Until next time.

(To be continued)