Sometime during the past few months, I came to the realization that I’m home and I’m not leaving.
Every time I do something to my house – replace all the doorknobs, stain the cabinets, install new locks – I fall a little more in love with my home.
I have even stopped fantasizing about moving to Florida to avoid winter or Portland to live a carfree life or San Diego for the year round temperate climate.
I don‘t need a bigger house. I don‘t need a better neighborhood. I don‘t need perfect weather. I have what I need right here.
I was looking at the crepe myrtle tree in my yard this week and admiring how it has come back after I gave it a severe pruning last year.
After months of looking like a dead cactus, the tree has made a comeback with healthy branches, full leaves and bright pink blossoms.
I thought – my wife would have loved this tree and this yard. It’s a small, private little patch that she would have turned into a garden oasis filled with flowers, butterflies and honeybees.
In that moment, I knew this was the place for her ashes.
I’ve kept my wife’s ashes in the closet since she died. I planned to scatter them when I found the “right place”.
Alongside Ellen’s ashes, I’d been holding onto Liz’s ashes since she died 15 years ago.
Ellen never wanted to deal with Liz’s ashes. Anytime I brought it up, she begged me not to discuss it. I stored Liz’s ashes in a box for all those years, waiting until Ellen made a different decision. She never did.
Before Ellen died, I asked her if she wanted me to scatter her ashes in the ocean. She said, “I’m a Dirt Girl. I’d rather be in the dirt where I’ve played my whole life.”
And so, yesterday, I buried my Dirt Girl under the crepe myrtle. Alongside her, I scattered Liz’s ashes. Liz and her mother loved being together. They spent many long days with each other for all of Liz’s life.
Now my girls will be together for the rest of time.
I miss you both and wish you were here with me.
It makes me smile to think of my two girls together forever, side by side, under the crepe myrtle.
I’ll think of you both every time I look at our tree.
