One of the things I failed to touch on in my earlier post about my last couple weeks in Oregon, is perhaps one of the most important things I did while I was home in Eugene for the two and a half weeks. Because all of the grandchildren were going to be in town, we were going to inter my grandmothers ashes. My grandfather had wanted to wait for a time when we could all easily be there. My sister, who lives in NYC, had flown back just a couple days before my grandmother passed. Because my grandmother did not want a funeral, there was no rush to bury her ashes.
The whole family drove up to the small cemetery where her ashes would rest. They would be put directly into the ground next to her parents. My uncle dug a small hole and my grandfather opened the box her ashes were in and poured them directly into the ground. What remained of my grandmother would at least feel the earth around her as she wanted. Yet again, however, I learned about love from the eyes of my grandfather. This haiku is for him.
her ashes covered
within the dirt. his tears truth.
their love still evolves.
more breaths from the poets at one deep breath