Strange Communion

A decade ago, we went to Cape Cod to scatter some of my mother's ashes. (My father insisted on retaining most of them. He wants us to mingle my mother's and his own when he dies.)

At the beach, each of us had a small handfull of ashes. I waded into the ocean, and prepared to cast them into the water. I was overcome with a primal urge. With my back shielding my actions from the rest of my family, I opened my hand and touched the tip of my tongue to the scant heap. The taste was bitter and harsh, and the texture unexpectedly gritty and very unpleasant. The act seemed at once wildly transgressive and absolutely essential.

I cast the ashes out away from me out onto the gentle ocean swells. I leaned and rinsed my mouth out with seawater.

Much later, in a conversation with my sister, I learned she had done the exact same thing. I wonder how common this behavior is.

I was reminded of it by this. Richards has since retracted the comment. But as for me, I believe it. There is some primitive impulse to incorporate our beloved dead into our own living substance.