Maybe We Don’t WANT Closure

Dearest Rachel –

Happy fifty-fifth birthday, honey. This is it; the day we set you adrift the way you wanted to be. This is why we’re here – right down to why we’ve waited so long – we wanted to make sure your closest friends were here to share this moment. Given how long it’s been, all that we’ve gone through – and had to go through – to get to this point, it feels like it ought to be somehow more momentous than this. And while I hate to belabor the point, it seems so anticlimactic to be here with just Daniel and myself to do so; why wait so long, if it was only up to us? This could have been over and done with so long ago.

Then again, maybe I needed the extra time in order to achieve closure with you and the situation. I’ve said it before, but I’ve had the opportunity to do more with your ashes than you ever dreamed of or imagined (although that does, admittedly, put me in a position where I question whether you would have appreciated the things I’ve done that weren’t expressly part of your wishes). There’s the diamond, and the places I’ve been able to take the ashes the diamond lab didn’t need…

…and which I’ve left behind from this trip.

Because, you see, it seems I still want to hold onto a little bit of you yet. By having a shaker full of ash still with me, I haven’t quite gotten rid of you. I still have this small portion of you that hasn’t been cast adrift where I will never come to again (setting aside Daniel’s claims to the contrary).

***

You can probably tell that I started writing this letter even before heading out to the island in the first place, honey.  That reference to your friends being here no longer applies; none of them could make it, for various reasons that I’ve already mentioned, either in text or video.  Again, Daniel is convinced that there will be another day when we’ll all be here to celebrate and honor you yet again, but considering that we’d planned this trip for so long, only for it to fall apart like it has, I hope he understands if and that I have my doubts.

For now, though, we’ve come all this way for the express purpose of casting you adrift into Schoolhouse Bay as you expressed you would have wished.  It would be wrong of us not to do so at this point, regardless of whether anyone else is here to watch or not.  The two of us actually practiced this moment, seven years ago; when you invited my parents out here as a means of explaining what you saw in this place to make you ask for your mortal remains to be scattered here, I gathered a jar full of fireplace ashes to take with us.  I had planned on basically showing Daniel what he would need to do when the time came (assuming, of course, that I would be long gone by then).  I think it was one of our last afternoons on that trip when I waded into the surf to simply pour them into the water’s edge.  Somehow, I lost my balance and fell sideways, landing on one knee and scraping it in the process against the stones.  At least I wasn’t badly hurt; after getting up, I said with mild chagrin, “and this is why we rehearse, son,” or words to that effect.  Neither you nor my folks were there in the moment – for which I was somewhat glad, as it was not exactly my proudest moment – but at this point, what else can I do but recall it for you all?

I had hoped, this time around, that I would wade in a little further – maybe up to my waist or so (despite the fact that I know the water is frighteningly cold) – and simply submerge the urn, to let the water rush in and wash your ashes out of its plastic inner liner.  Of course, I had also hoped that someone else would be filming me in the process – maybe Erin, considering that she hates being on the other side of the camera lens – so that I would have both hands free to do so, while your ashes would swirl around me like creamer in a coffee cup (why did I use that simile?  You always hated coffee).  But I don’t know if I can make that request of Daniel, even as I realize that doing this on my own is going to be beyond challenging with only one hand for the camera and the other on the urn.

Given the time spent on filming one experience or another like I have over the past year or so, the fact that everything was meant to build up to now suggests that this moment ought to be that much more… momentous.  And yet, it doesn’t take long at all, rendering it somewhat anticlimactic, don’t you think?  I’m not sure what to make of it.

***

They say that funerals – or in this case, memorials – aren’t really meant so much for the dead themselves – after all, you’re not here to appreciate it, and it’s debatable whether your spirit concerns itself with this or any other place or time in terrestrial history – as much as us, the living.  As I said, it’s meant to bring closure to our time with you, so that we can acknowledge your part in our lives, and we can move on with them.  At the same time, I can affirm another part of what I wrote previously; that I’m not ready to completely let you go, not now, and perhaps not ever.  That shaker, I expect, will still be half full when my time comes, so I can have a little part of you with me when I’m laid to rest.  It’s the closest thing I’ll get to being reunited with you down here (and us being memorialized as a couple).

Now, this may yet change, depending on Megumi (and whether she exists, and I can find her), but for now, I think I’d rather not have complete closure with regard to you, honey.  I can’t quite let you go yet, even though from most outward appearances, I’ve moved on better than a lot of grieving widows or widowers.  Still, if you could keep an eye on me, and wish me luck, I’d appreciate it.  After all, I’m pretty sure I’m going to need it.