Elements of Life

Air Meets Water:

The warm, tropical, humid Hawaiian breeze stirred in the palm trees. Blissfully ignorant, I sat gazing at the pounding surf. Little did I know how quickly this calm would escape me. Swimming with sea turtles, lounging on rafts, snorkeling over coral reefs and kicking with fins through the green waves brought a renewed patience within myself. I was slowing down and just being. Ruah, the breath of life, moved through me. I was grateful for the gift. Would I be able to bring this feeling full circle after flying back to my real life?

Water Meets Earth:

The ocean has always been my solace. I return again and again and she, like an old friend who has waited patiently for my return, welcomes me. Her primordial waters encircle me like the womb of my mother. At the end of the earth, I swim to her, buouyant and weightless. This ocean, with its tumultuous moods, peaceful calm and pounding surf will be my grave. The earth erodes into the sea. And I will swim eternally in her embrace.

Earth Meets Fire:

It was the flatness of her voice and the silence that preceded it that struck fear in my heart. Something was wrong. I know her too well not to detect the nuance of unspoken dread. And then the grave report: "I had a bad biopsy." My heart thumped and the fire of rage consumed me. Her voice, crackled with forced optimism. "We are thinking positively." All I could see was the brown dirt of grief, again. The ashes of a life, again. Only this time, it was Peggy. Life is relentless, I thought. It has only been two years since I stood by as the jagged flames of the oven consumed Mother's body in its fiery cremation. Fifteen since Bob's ashes were placed into the earth next to Jamie's tiny coffin. And twenty-seven since Daddy led the way that August morning in 1981. This time, I fear, I will not have the strength to walk across the red hot coals. No. Not this time. This time I will fight. You will not take her from me. This time you will lose. Not me. The white sands of Hawaii seemed a distant memory and my old friend grief welcomed me home.

Fire Meets Air:

It had been a day of dread. Mother's cremation. As I awoke that morning, I knew I had to go. I called the funeral home. They advised against it. I insisted. I wept. How could I not be there? I had been born from my mother's body. Hers was the first touch I had known. She had cradled me, stroked me, caressed me, protected me until it was I who protected her. Wiping her. Washing her. Even brushing her dentures, something I never thought I could do. On this day, that body would burn to ashes. Dissolved in grief I searched for a sign. A lone pink camellia beckoned me. Mother's favorite flower. I clipped it from the stem, wrapped a wet paper towel and foil around the bottom and left the house. I drove through my tears along the tree-lined street alone in my mother's Buick. And then just ahead there appeared two large birds with wide wingspans. They may have been hawks. They flew just in front of my car, soaring through the air. And I knew I had a sign. There were my parents, reunited, dancing, soaring freely after twenty-five years of separation - together, leading me to the crematorium. I placed the camellia on my mother’s chest and kissed her forehead. They closed the cardboard coffin and slid it into the oven. They waited for me to give the o.k. to push the button. I nodded. It would take four hours for her tiny body to be turned to dust. But I knew, her spirit soared.