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To die and dwell among the living 

It is time. I can feel the warmth of my daughters’ body, clutching me closer, tighter to her chest.

I feel the jar slightly opening.

The soft wind is peeking inside the urn that has been keeping my ashes for long.

And I remember many things.

I miss the red, shiny floor of my grandparents’ house. How I tear ShuShu’s ears, pulling him hard while my sisters ride him mercilessly. That rug dog that we played with as children, sliding and swiping over our newly waxed floor. I see Dolly, my older sisters’ doll, her orange hairs barely hanging on to a bare scalp. Bue eyes drawn out. Limbs and body penned with markings of little girls who poked and tweaked on her. Naked boys and girls playing in the plaza. The rain, the wet slippery pavements. I regret not joining them. I remember all the fun I chose not to do because I was ashamed to be called stupid. The silly things. The shallow things. The simple, meaningless things I did not do because I was afraid.   

My ashes start to lift, rising to the brim. 

I think of my sisters, all four of them – my Ate who is kindest and selfless, Joan talented and skilled, Annie most generous, street-smart, Mariel the sweetest, the friendliest of all. The journey we had together. The pains. The laughter. Arguments and fights on petty things. The hearty food over endless talks. The shadow shows we did while the storm raged outside. The radio recordings of our voice talents. How we sew and scraped old notebooks for the class openings. The bookmarks we made for school elections. My sisters, my comfort and refuge, my sanctuary. The unconditional love, the anchors of my humanity. My circle of fire.      

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My dusts are coming out to the open air. I can feel the breeze of the wide, blue seas.

I miss my Mama. The bedtime stories while I lay in my bunkbed. The smell of the room. Soaked and old, but familiar, safe. How I twisted and twirled in my bed when she paused,  thinking we were all asleep.  But I was not, so  she would make up endings to finish her invented tales. Gowns and costumes. Fairytales and princesses. Hairclips and dresses. Paper dolls. Poems. Countless pieces of work on stage. Long nights of practice and rehearsals. My Mom, I will not forget her sadness, her pains, but I will remember her laughter too. Her joy at dancing, her pride of her children, the rise of her  tribe. I will remember the days I did not tell them I love them. The times I gave up or acted in fear.

The wind takes notice of my ashes, pulling me up, whispering the adventures awaiting beyond us.  

I feel scared, overwhelmed. The immensity of the sea, its deep- blue bottom is like a void that has no end, the waves lapping at each other, a struggle of might on who shall engulf who. The clouds watching above, in reds and oranges. I wonder where should I go? Should I join the sky and hide in her grays? Should I sway with the carefree gale to take me to the rocks and the mountains and the shores? Or should I swim with the tides, until I am pulled down to the earth, to be swallowed by the eels and the moss?

Then I remember my son. How handsome, and kind and smart he is, my greatest pride. And my daughter, a talented, complicated artist. My best friend, my greatest joy. Beaches. Travels. Conversations. Hugs and kisses. The challenges and adversities they grew up in. Yet how good, decent  people they turned out to be. Worrying about them. Praying for them. And finally, letting go of them. I will watch over them, guard and protect them. I will be in their daybreaks and nigh falls.  I will be in their droplets of rain. I will be with them in every river, in the trees, in every ocean that they shall cross. I miss shuffling my son’s hair. I remember my daughter’s laughter. Their scent. Their  light. Their boldness. 

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The wind is swirling, carrying me in her bosom. 

I am floating, feeling the cold air, my particles separating. Clumps of me disintegrating, pirouetting in the sunrays. I am breaking apart. The wind swoops me in, lifts me even higher, higher. I can hear my daughter, my son below. Their cries stifled. Sad faces of goodbyes. Departures. Surrender. Release.  

Who am I now? What am I now? I remember my voice, my identity, the person I was. Feelings. Thoughts. Sensations. Warm dinners. Hot chocolates. I want to be me again. The old, imperfect, damaged me, with all my flaws and fears.  But breathing. Alive. Able to dance. Able to sing. Able to cry and tell stories. Able to cry and smile. Able to eat and play and run. Before I turn into nothing, I want to cherish my life again. An existence full of mystery and wonders.

I wish I am still living. I wish I can see my beautiful nieces fall in love; my nephews become men. I wish I can see my grandchildren grow. I miss my body. My small hands.  My nimble feet. My eyes that cried a river of lifetime’s joy and hurts. My heart that endured so much. Sleep and dreams. Chocolate cakes and roasted meat. Fruit teas and cheeseburgers. I wish I had more. More of everything. More of it all. 

I think of my Love. Chatters and giggles from evening till dawn. Fights and make ups. Dancing awkward in the kitchen. Market days. Walking and holding hands. Coffees at McDonalds. Breakfasts at sunrise. The rivers we crossed and the mountains we climbed. The home we dreamed of. I miss him. I miss his voice. I will miss him forever. Souls connected, beyond words and time, beyond space. Weak and fragile, so desperately human. Yet so beautiful. To be in love, to be loved. To be seen, to be witnessed by another. I shall send the tepid gush by his side to keep him warm and safe.    

The wind drops me in the forest.

My ashes are on the leaves. I am the insects on the rocks. Ants on the barks of the trees. Dewdrops. Old, brown leaves falling to the loams. I have become something else. My identity is now a part of the landscape, the ecosystem has reclaimed me. I am in every patch of green. I have become the pond where fishes thrive. Seeds becoming buds. Tiny but important. Unseen. Unheard. But felt.   

Finally, I am sinking.

My ashes have become the grain of sand at the bottom of the seas. Ocean beds. Ridges and crests. Dark blue strips of opaque and endless black. My mortality sinks into the mystery of the earth’s gaping hole. I am now water. I belong to eons of kingdoms and continents collapsing and arising. Dark. Cold. Quiet. I have become eternity.         

My body have returned into nature, where I came from. Decomposed. Decayed. Dissolved. When will I see you again? Maybe I have gone ahead of you. But I will stay with you in the islands of every continent. I will be  the breeze caressing your cheeks. I will hold you tight at the peak of every wave that greets you. Please think of me as the flame in your burning candles. The smell of rain. The sound of lightning. Roars of thunders. Shooting stars.  I am the vines climbing your walls, reaching out to touch you.  

Do not bury me in the ground. My bones bound to the soil. Trapped. Leashed.  

 Do not grieve for me in one spot. Lonesome. Desolate. Deserted.

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Throw my ashes into the air, by the ocean. Let the wind bring me to places I have never been. Carry me with you. In the hair strands of the grandchildren I will not see. Picture frames. Candles blowing. Weddings and birthdays. Doorsteps and hospital beds.

Let me be in your breathe, the singing of the birds, the gardens. In the seashells you will pick up by the beach.

Scatter my ashes into the wilderness.

Into the wind.

Let me fly, let me soar, let me sink.

Until we meet again, let me be with you.

Please throw my ashes into the wind.

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As we move along......

Death is certain. It is valid to fear the slow, long, agonizing  physical pain of dying. I pray that I go quick, quiet and be thrown into the seas with no big fuss of a funeral.  May we live everyday remembering that down the road, we will all be forgotten.     

How would you like to go when it is your time? 

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Thank you for reading my essay. My name is Abigail Ortega. I write warm, poignant essays and short stories. I also paint simple artworks. If you like to read more of my work, you may join our newsletter here: https://afto.myflodesk.com/qj13kigo4b.