Unexpected Travel (with the Requisite Reflection)

I was talking recently with a friend about the fact that we seem to be losing family, friends, and loved ones at an increasing rate. His take: as we age into our 5th decade, we’re entering a new season of our lives.

I don’t disagree, as I know more people than I ever have, and the people that I know are older, so it makes sense that the number of losses should be increasing. But damn, it sure seems like the losses are piling up quickly: I lost my uncle Tom in spring, my mom lost one of her best friends about six months ago, I’ve had some good friends get some really challenging medical diagnoses, and then a few weeks ago I lost another uncle.

This sequence of events brings to mind something Chelsea always used to say: change happens slowly and then all at once.

My uncle’s passing did present an opportunity to make a trip back east to be with my family, hence the ‘unexpected travel’ portion of this entry’s title. And while the circumstances were complicated, it was nice to see everyone around the holidays (it’s been a long time since I’ve visited my midwestern family in December). I also got the opportunity to bring my daughter E and my partner K with me, which was actually quite lovely: K got to meet a lot of family members and my mom got to spend some time with her grand daughter which, it turns out, she needed after losing her big brother.

Mom made one of the more wonderful comments she’s made about my daughter towards the end of our trip: she said that E grounds her and that E’s positivity and bright personality are a real lift during dark times. I live with it every day so it’s easy to take for granted, but it is quite amazing how positive this kid is, in spite of everything that’s happened to her. Beyond her role as an exemplar for resilience, she continues to be this bright point of light in the world, a real north star for all of us during difficult times. It’s really cool as a parent to watch your kid thrive like this.

As part of the trip, I also had the opportunity to go back and visit Chelsea’s headstone at our family plot in the local cemetery, 15 months after we interned some of her remains. This is obviously a complicated place for a variety of reasons, but it’s also a peaceful place: the plot is surrounded by large oak trees, it sits by a small creek, and it’s quiet save the sounds of nature, inviting reflection and creating space for whatever kind of experience one needs. Kudos to my mom for recommending that I do this (my original plans had always been to scatter ashes in nature, in the spirit of ‘ashes to ashes, dust to dust’): her take was that it’s helpful to have a physical location to mark a person’s life, not so much so that you can visit ‘with them’ as much as you can remember their lives with intention. Jury’s still out on how this will play out in time, but 15 months later, it seems to be working.

My daughter enjoys spending time there, although it’s hard to know how much of this she really understands. When we interned some of her mom’s ashes last year, we hadn’t yet had the cremation talk; I recall saying something about how the box we were putting in the ground ‘helped us remember momma,’ but that was the extent of it.

The idea of having that conversation always scared me. While probably a blessing, E never saw her mom’s body after she passed, presenting a gap in her memory about what happened (I did, which is one of the more traumatic images I have burned into my memory). Her mom was there one day, and then she wasn’t, and I had to come up with answers to her increasingly detailed questions about where the body went. And of course, she’s a smart kid, so she knew something was missing in my explanations.

Thankfully, I stalled long enough to consult a few experts so that, by the time E asked a question specific enough, I was ready with the best explanation I could muster. Quick note for anyone trying to explain cremation to children: don’t mention the heat and fire part; instead, focus on the idea of a process that essentially turns the body into sand (you can probably talk about the idea of dehydrating, or drying out).

So in the time since the grave side service, E and I had talked about cremation, meaning on this trip we could talk about what was buried in the ground. And while I do think she gets that her mom’s body doesn’t exist in the same form anymore, I don’t know how she thinks about her mom’s ‘existence,’ whatever that means. Hell, I still don’t know what to think about all this given my belief structure and the severe limits of language when dealing with concepts like death.

Existential questions aside, visiting the cemetery was a calm and peaceful experience, which was a bit of a relief in hindsight: I still can’t predict with any certainty how I’m going to feel about certain types of experiences, and it’s always nice to avoid getting gut punched…

Although, we’re approaching another potentially tricky milestone: as we approach 2024, we’ll pass the point in time at which E has been alive without her mother longer than she was alive with her. While I’m the first to concede that time bends and flexes during times of stress (for the fellow physics folks out there-I still haven’t worked out what the gamma term is in the grief time dilation equation), that milestone looms large for me, and I have no idea how I’ll feel about it. Hopefully it will pass with minimal fuss, but it’s also the type of experience that could really knock me off center. I’ll report back if there’s anything meaningful to say about the experience.

In the meantime, I’m looking forward to reflecting on the year, something I always enjoy doing in late December/early January.

Best wishes to everyone as you close out your 2023, wherever you are in the world. Thanks for reading.