Therefore
PART ONE: The Gremlin and The High Cross
When Roger and I went to Ireland for our honeymoon, we very intelligently added a GPS to our car rental. It was our only saving grace on multiple occasions as Irish road maps are, if I'm not mistaken, edited and published by hamsters. (Did you know there is no P in hamster?.... thank you spell check) Remembering the deep gratitude we held for the GPS, I recommended we do the same on this trip.
Our car rental was actually the 3rd in a string of calamities on our venture. The Williams Clan and I joked that if our trip was made into a movie it would be aptly titled "National Lampoon's European Vacation Part 2". Anything that could go wrong did, and even some things that would surely by safe from error or irony were not. Upon arrival at Dublin's Avis, we were dropped off at some foreign model of Ford. My sister in law and I looked at each other, already feeling uneasy about it but hoping that gut reaction was premature.
It was a car.
There were 7 travelers on this journey, and I know of no car that would do the job. To make a very lengthy story palatable, we needed to have reserved a VAN, which is considered a utility vehicle in the most basic of definitions, but it wasn't an option as we looked for passenger vehicles. The car wouldn't hold 7 people along with 7 people's luggage, but after a pretty hefty argument, some negotiating, and of course more money, we were able to trade the car for a van the next day.
The van was a standard...
on the right side of the car...
with the stick shift in the left hand...
while driving on the wrong side of the road...
in a foreign country with poorly marked roads...
in the rain...
with a caramel coating on our windshield...
Ok, that last part didn't happen, but it might as well have. We did add on the Garmin GPS to aid our travels, but it turned out to almost be a hindrance. It insisted that we never wanted to take major roads, which is a problem in a country like Ireland. If you can imagine the narrowest of roads, just wide enough to let two cars "pass", rarely a center stripe, tall trees/bushes held back only by stone fences erected by farmers centuries ago to clear the rock for planting, limited visibility, and lots of tight often >90° turns, then you can imagine the roads the Garmin felt were in our best interest. It got to the point that my sister in law began referring to it as the Gremlin instead.
Ireland has daylight til around 10pm this time of year. We planned the evening to include an early dinner and a drive to Monasterboice giving us plenty of light for the first spreading. The weather was amazing all day; sunny, clear, and kinda warm (if it can be warm AND call for scarves). However, the second we got in the van, thick dark clouds filled the sky and it began to rain...
Back to the Gremlin... Roger and I had a difficult time finding the cemetery ourselves. The GPS didn't know where it was, and maps gave us conflicting points. It took us a great deal of time find the cemetery, but the huge tower gave it away once we were close. We arrived just as the sun was setting. The light gave it a surreal quality that made our time there even more memorable. It was empty; just us two and the groundskeeper that lived next door.
Knowing that the GPS was incorrect, I navigated what I remembered to be the accurate directions to Monasterboice. I will keep this part of the story short to preserve my dignity and skills as a map reader. Let's just say that what should have been a 45 minute drive turned into something closer to an hour and half and involved stopping at a diner to ask directions from a a seemingly lovely woman who took the time to even walk outside to show me where to go... and then snottily added that maps help. Bitch...
I was really downtrodden at this point. It was raining, dark, and a good 45 minutes later than we planned to arrive. In fact, it was almost 10pm before we saw the tower rising from the beyond the trees. And as we pulled up, I saw the gate: closed.
My heart sank a little deeper than it had already sunk nearly two hours ago when the rain first hit our windshield. I had chosen this wonderful location, and yet again the universe had other plans.
Everyone got out of the van except me. I'll admit it; I was pouting. It wasn't until I heard my name called that we could hop the fence that I begrudgingly got out. Next to the gate, actually built into the stone fence, were STEPS! Please explain to me the point of the gate if there are stairs that allow for entry...
I was the last to climb over the fence. The rain had stopped. It was still cloudy and dark, but somehow the last of the sunlight permeated just enough for us to see. I heard my nephew whisper, "It's just like Harry Potter!" The Williams Clan explored the cemetery while I walked to the back, just past the tower, to have my own moment at a site that held such a different significance not long ago. I did my best to hold back the tears, I'm not even sure why. It wasn't long before I found myself in the company of family, and the moment I didn't know I had been dreading came to be.
Roger's father held the box of ashes. We had to have them put in a plastic box so that they could be scanned at the airport. THAT is a separate story in and of itself, but one I'll leave for telling in person.
Joan, his mother, had memorized a quote that had personal meaning for her, and she recited it by heart as we solemnly listened or perhaps used it as a launching pad for our own thoughts. All the while, his father was trying, yes TRYING, to open the plastic box. I didn't realize there was a problem until I heard a "Hmm..." come from his dad. He couldn't get the box open!
After everything that had happened before, and believe me there was a laundry list (remember, we're talking Griswald trip to Ireland), I was now watching the ashes refuse to open!? I remember thinking this was really funny. Dave, my brother in law, came over to help, but even he couldn't get the box to budge. Everything in me was laughing, but as soon as my mouth opened the internal laughter exited as blubbering tears.
"We came all the way to Ireland, and the f*cking box won't open!!!!!"
I kid you not... The moment I said f*ck, the box opened. It was noted by all that if ever there was a way Roger could demonstrate his presence, waiting for me to cuss to allow access to his ashes was definitely one way to do it.
Dave held the ashes against his chest and walked to me to grant me the first spread. The last 5 months I had envisioned a small shovel like the kind you use at the beach in my hand, but as that was but another way I was unprepared for this moment, I reached in for a handful.
It was physically nothing I had ever felt before and hope never to feel again. I would like to remember how soft Roger's lips were, how scratchy his 10am five-o'clock shadow was, and what his hugs felt like - not the consistency of his ashes. I completely broke down inside and out. What a horrible task to be set before me. I shook the ashes as I would flour from my hand along the fence that separated us from a grassy field. I shook them around the tower, amongst the crosses. We took turns taking our portions, mingling an ancient past with a painful present, scattering his ashes along with our tears.
Joan and Dave poured some ash around the base of one of the High Crosses, and I was a bit embarrassed I had not thought of it first. I supposed initially the cross seemed too sacred to touch, but it seemed fitting. It seemed perfect.
We took a moment to remember the wonderful things about Roger, circled around the High Cross, and then one by one we headed back to the van. His father walked me out of the cemetery with his arm around my shoulder. My sister in law and the kids were already back in the van by the time the remaining four of us approached the gate. Dave had already climbed over and was waiting to help us do the same.
"Did anyone actually try to open the gate before?" Joan asked.
Silence... Roger's father lifted the latch that held the gate closed, and without a struggle it opened.
"You are kidding me!!!" I cried, but this time it was accompanied by laughter. We all laughed. It was a Roger moment, and I love that those still exist.
Nonetheless, I insisted on hopping the fence.
No comments:
Post a Comment