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So he found himself standing outside the funeral home, wrestling with the conversation he was about to have, and then made himself walk inside.
A middle-aged woman dressed in a gray suit got up from her desk and went to meet him.
“Welcome to Fielding’s Mortuary. My name is Emma. May I help you?”
“My name is Tate Benton. I’m here to pick up my mother’s ashes. Her name was Julia Marie Benton. She passed a few weeks ago.”
She checked their records, then paused. “Will you be needing a memorial urn?”
Tate took a slow breath. “No, ma’am. They will be scattered at her request.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll be right back,” she said, and left him alone in the office.
He sat down, then stared at the toes of his shoes because he couldn’t look up without revealing the fact that he was crying.
When the lady returned carrying a small black box, he couldn’t speak. How did a woman as beautiful and vital as his mother had been become condensed to the point of fitting inside a container the size of a box of tissues?
“There are no outstanding costs associated with this account, so if you’ll sign here…” the woman said, pointing to a line on the release statement.
One thing his father had managed to do right was pay to put her to rest.
He signed his name.
“I am sorry for your loss,” the lady said, and handed him the box.
“Thank you,” he said, and held it close to his chest as he walked away.
Once inside his car, he tucked the box close against him and drove out of town, heading for the Virginia mountains. There was a spot overlooking a small valley that she’d loved to go when the leaves were beginning to turn. She’d always said it must be where God lived, because it was so beautiful there.
He thought of Nola as he drove, and realized what a gift she had given him—this time alone with his mother—because he had not been able to be with her at the end. He began to talk to his mother as he drove, knowing it would be the last time he would have any kind of contact with what was left of her physical body.
“So, Mom, I’m sure you know all about Nola and me. I consider myself blessed to have this second chance, and don’t worry, I won’t mess it up. As you know, I finally had it out with Dad. I just want you to know that I’m not sad. I don’t think I ever really knew him.”
He glanced at his GPS and then down at the box.
“We’re almost there. You would have loved this trip.”
His chest felt tight, and there was a knot in his belly that wouldn’t go away. The urge to weep was strong as he reached the scenic overlook, pulled over and stopped.
He took the box with him to the rim, and then stopped to admire the deep rich greens and the ribbon of blue water in the valley below.
“Hey, Mom, just look at all this. You’re going to love it here.”
His hands were shaking as he took off the lid. He couldn’t look at what was in it without remembering his childhood and the nights she’d comforted him after he’d had bad dreams, the cookies she’d made, and the cups of cocoa they’d shared on cold winter nights.
This isn’t me.
He heard the soft voice as clearly as he felt the wind on his face. And just like that, the agony of what he was about to do was gone.
“Love you, Mom,” he said softly, then tilted the box and let the ashes spill out into the updraft coming up from the floor of the valley.
He caught his breath as, for a few seconds, it appeared as if they were going down instead of up. Then the wind caught them, and swirled them out and away into space.
Tate dropped the lid and then the box down into the valley, and closed his eyes. He flashed on his mother’s face, and then, like the ashes, it was gone.
He got back in the car and headed down the mountain, suddenly anxious to get back to Nola, to the warmth of her smile and the love in her eyes. He’d been a long time hurting. It felt good to be loved.
* * *
