Monday, April 12, 2010
Bury me in the river. Let my ashes drift down with the icy waters. Dust to dust, I want to return to the Earth to travel the currents through the mountain river stream.
I love going to the mountains. It's where I was raised, and the very air makes my lungs feel cleaner. My body responds as though it knows it's home. I just simply feel alive in the mountains. Maybe it is the feeling of being small in such a big space, but I fit there. When the boys and I were rock hopping, I had a thought that I allowed to linger, and I found joy in the idea. It might be the first time I can say I have seen joy in thinking about my own death. I hate thinking about death in relation to anyone I know - me, my husband, our families, and especially my children. I could easily send myself into a panic attack as we speak if I surrendered my mind to that rabbit trail of thoughts and "what if" fears of mine. However, despite all that, I found a joyful thought standing on the rocks barefoot in the middle of the river in Tennessee. I pictured my family sprinkling ashes in the water. My soul would be safe, and my body back where it feels at home.
Now, I am not saying one should take this as my final plans, but what I realized that moment in thought, is that there can be comfort in being insignificant. There is comfort in imagining your soul resting in God's hands with those that passed before. And there was even for one moment a little comfort with the idea of death as not painful, but natural and graceful like the running mountain stream.