TIS THE SEASON

To my knowledge, Chris has never been to Iowa. I haven’t ever really been to Iowa, though Michael told me we drove through the state on our way to the Apostle Islands. We drove through while I was sleeping in the back seat because Michael had decided to drive us to Wisconsin in the middle of the night. His idea was that I would sleep while he drove and then we would switch drivers in the morning. His plan mostly worked. I drove us from Duluth to our campsite near Bayfield WI as the sun rose up in the East, with Michael snoring in the passenger seat. Chris was left in Wisconsin on the banks of Lake Superior during that trip. The night before leaving for Heather’s in Des Moines, I realized that Chris had never actually made it to Iowa.

As I pulled his coffee can down from the bookcase, I tried to remember the last time I had taken Chris anywhere. It’s been awhile. Maybe the last time was over a year ago when we visited Vancouver and I left in the hand of laughing sculpture. Our travels of late have all to been to places where Chris and I have already gone. I was in the kitchen, opening the can when Michael and the Cabbage walked in. “What’s that?!” The Cabbage asked as they opened the fridge in search of a snack. Michael answered for me and then there was a brief but frank discussion on human remains. There’s not a whole lot of Chris’s ashes left. Enough left for a few more adventures. Once we made it to Heather’s we sat around the table discussing possible locations to leave Chris. I had looked up some places listed on the Atlas Obscura website. One spot happened to be a cemetery and it was Terry who asked “Have you ever theft Chris in an actual cemetery?”

The Huston Cemetery in Wes Des Moines used to be the center of a roundabout. The intersection has since been remodeled but the tiny cemetery of maybe ten headstones still remain. The last person buried in the space was James B Huston in 1889, the man who founded the settlement. I walked all the way around the cemetery, looking for a good spot to leave Chris. The headstones were all so worn that barely any lettering stood out. I finally settled on a spot close to the tree and in eyesight of an old farmhouse. Really, it was too cold to stand outside debating too long on the perfect place and too cold for tears. There have been a number of times Chris has been left hastily and rushed, mostly because it’s not quite legal. This spot was probably the most legal of all, being it is an actual cemetery.

This is the time of year where everything starts to feel like a scratchy hair coat for those of us who have experienced loss. The memories of our past lives float in to remind of us what it is that we have lost and the Holiday season becomes a mix of pain and joy. Good and bad. Our grief can cause us to lash out in unexpected ways and I am reminded to speak mindfully and tread softly. I am not the only one to have experienced loss. I am not the only one with a ritual for celebrating the life of someone I love. Leaving Chris in all of these different places is a reminder to myself that I do not live in a vacuum. We all have broken or bruised hearts.

This is the time of year for more then ever leading with kindness.