Ceremony at Sea

23 April 2006

Nine of us set out on a small rented sailboat from Santa Barbara harbor yesterday. We prayed together, then scattered James’ ashes at sea, along with white roses and multi-colored petals. Val’s sister joined us from Australia, as well as my sister, friend and skipper Justin, his wife Rachel, cousin Betsy, and my parents. It was a beautiful day, and an important completion in another chapter of our life.

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Posted in Fatherhood, Grief Recovery, Life | Tagged | Comments (5)

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  • http://www.evenafterclaire.com Melody

    Today was the first time I’ve ever visited your blog. In trying to sort through the conflicting range of emotions brought by the recent celebration of new life in my family and this weekend’s loss of someone I knew in school, I searched the ‘net for similar connections.

    Your post was so beautiful. I clicked over to learn of James. Now here I sit, tears rolling down my face for your love, your loss, and your strength. Thank you for sharing what is so personal. My prayers and thoughts are for you and, as you so beautifully put it, “for the highest good.” And some say computers harm interpersonal connections… Thank you.

  • Robert

    Thanks for sharing, Melody. I figure if we don’t write about the stuff that really matters in life, why write at all? And that goes for blogs as much as anything. My condolences to you on your own loss, and best wishes for the future. Keep connecting.

  • http://www.evenafterclaire.com Melody

    “I figure if we don’t write about the stuff that really matters in life, why write at all?” Such an important reminder; sometimes I get off track and forget. Writing has been at the core of every cathartic experience in my life. Blogging just allows us to share those processes. Thank you for your own sharing. All Best.

  • http://www.prodigalson.us/prodigalblog.htm Bill

    I am so sorry to hear about your loss. Since my own similar loss almost 18 years ago, news like this makes me almost physically ill. I have no words of wisdom for you because I’m not wise. I don’t know why our children had to die. I can’t be an example of someone who went through hell and came out on the other side with my scars magically erased. They are still there. They just don’t bleed as much as they used to. The only thing I can do is to grieve with you from half the world away and let you know that I care.

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