There can be nothing more bizarre than carrying one's dead body through an airport in the form of ashes. I never knew a body in a box could be so heavy. Remarkably the weight of loss is far more agonizing.
The image that could not be amputated from my imagination was me physically dragging my fathers dead body up to the baggage check in; "yes, ma-am one bag to check. Oh dont mind him, he's coming as my carry on." Then limping along through security showing the death certificate and asking, "is it okay if he doesnt go through the x-ray check? I promise im not smuggling anything." Then finally on the plane the lovely flight attendant warmly reminds us to "securely stow all items in the overhead bins or underneath the seat in front of you." Realizing that his body is far to big to fit in either spot I neatly contort my father's dead body to "securely" fit under the seat. Candidly, this left little room for my feet.
This twistedly humorous and nauseating picture branded itself on my eyeballs through the entire flight to NC. Everyday i imagined my fathers dead body resting silently in my room as I slept. On the last day when aunty and I hiked out to a beautiful cove beside the ocean, father's body finally looked like ashes to me.
It is a bizarre thing to spread one's ashes in the ocean. Inexplicably it is also a beginning of an end...
Bodies. Dead bodies.
Chafed cheeks do not absorb the tears.
Cold. Rigid. Skin.
Skin dissolves to Ashes
Ashes heavy and dark.
Beauty from ashes?
Not quite yet