Wind

It was one of those wonderful Southern California days. The Santa Ana winds were blowing and the offshore breeze made the waves glassy as the spray blew off the tops of cresting waves. It was a perfect day to be in the surf enjoying life.

As we drove up PCH toward Huntington Harbor I thought of the beauty of the ocean and the countless days we had convinced mom to drive us there before driver's licenses had been obtained. I thought of the change in my father since they moved to the beach from inland. How he liked to play now. How he had a bag of beach toys in the garage and could hardly wait for the arrival of kids and grand kids to walk the block and a half to the water.

I also remembered the visit to our house in Illinois when mom knew something was wrong but the doctors had not confirmed it yet. She drank White Russians to dull the pain, added pain pills she had borrowed from my grandmother. And then the call that it was indeed bad. Cancer had assaulted her body. I remember the next five years as the doctors waged war with my mother on this monster growing in her body. The skirmishes of surgery, chemicals to kill the enemy and hopefully not kill her. The eventual sacrifice of her tongue and jaw in an attempt to win the battle. Experimental gene therapy. A box that talked for her so she could tell her children and grandchildren "I love you." A valiant war had been waged but she was not the victor. In the end it had been a losing battle. The war was lost.

So we drove to the harbor and boarded a boat. It was a beautiful sixty foot Chris-Craft with mahogany decks, a galley full of food and beverages. We ate a little and drank a little until we made it out into the open waters and headed off the beach where we had spent so many hours. The captain pointed to bow out to sea and cut the engine. It was strangely quiet as we all gathered in the stern on the boat. I led the service which I had found in one of my books. Prayers were said and mom's ashes we spread (but mostly dumped) into the ocean. The wind blew a little of those ashes around and I remember the gritty feel of it in my hands and blowing on my face.

When the ceremony was over we went on a small cruise around the harbor and talked about stories from our past, happier days. I remember stepping back on land, leaving my sea legs and mom's ashes behind me.

As we walked up the ramp to the parking lot my son turned to my brother and said, "Uncle Bri, when the wind blew I got some Nana in my eye."

He replied, "You'll always have some Nana in your eye."