Dust to dust.

On Aug 1st, my birth mother Lynne passed away. I did not know her well. Her life had been marked by trauma and addiction, and shortly after we met when I was 21, what had been the longest period of sobriety in her life came to an end. Although I gained good relationships with a younger and older half-sister – I share a different parent with each – and with my birth father, I never really got to know Lynne. As of today, we still do not know for sure what finally caused her heart to stop beating (the toxicology report is still pending), but years of serious health conditions and alcohol abuse meant that no one was surprised when she went.

In addition to not knowing her well, I never felt the need or desire to have an emotional connection with her on the basis of being her bio daughter. So when I got the call from my sister (who I was raised with and was also Lynne’s bio daughter), I felt some gravity but I was not hurting. I went for a walk in an usually cloudly and cool morning, and realized that this was the first death close to me since I started practicing atheopaganism. I could feel that. It felt different. Maybe in part because the sense of loss was so muted, but my thoughts were immediately pulled to the places I contemplate when I sit by the fire during a blot. The gods felt nearby. 

That night I wrote my friends and family an e-mail. 

I wanted to write tonight so let you know that my birth mother Lynne passed away sometime last night. At first I thought to just tell you when I saw you this weekend but then I didn’t want to have it be a big, shock-y thing that y’all felt pressure to respond to with particular intensity or whatnot, especially since that’s not exactly what it is for me. 

As you all know I was not at all close to Lynne and knew little of the details of her life. As soon as it was apparent to me that she was not an emotionally stable person capable of a healthy relationship I made it clear that I was going to keep my distance. I don’t regret that at all. And since I never had an emotional connection with her, I’m not hurting right now. 

It is a strange feeling, though – to know that the woman who “queefed” me into the world and who made up, in a material sense, half of who I am has departed the earth. And if I’m being honest the biggest sensation I’m feeling now is a strange one of wonder: someone lived, a small slice of the universe made conscious for the blink of a cosmic eye, and meanwhile she gave me life. And now she’s returned to the earth, like someday I will too, like we all will. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I guess reverence is the best word for what that stirs in me.

Lynne had a very hard life. She was a nearly lifelong alcoholic, with a lot of demons, the details of which we can only partially cobble together. But she also gave birth to three extraordinary, beautiful women, and her life was not without joy. So in the grand scheme of things, she got a chance at the least to be fully human. 

We don’t know much about how she died yet, but apparently she was at a friend’s place partying. So perhaps she flew just a little close to the sun, after 40+ years of flirting with it. I find this comforting; she wasn’t alone, and she went out, in a weird sense, on her own terms. Given how bad her health had been for so long, I think that’s a better death than wasting away in a hospital bed, waiting for a new liver (or some such thing) that will never come. 

So ashes to ashes, dust to dust – maybe have a drink dedicated to her sometime this week, a woman you never knew except through whatever inheritance she gave me through the blood and through the brain. That all turned out pretty damn sweet so, think of her for a moment if it makes any sense for you. 

In the bleak midwinter. 

As it turns out, the spirituality I’ve discovered in the past few years is something I think Lynne would have understood. She came from a family that loves the outdoors; fishing and hiking were two of her biggest passions. The only burial request anyone could remember her making was that her body be wedged between a crack of a mountain, there to confuse some future archeologists. So when we found out that there was a newly available nature burial option just 45 minutes from where Lynne lived most of her life, it seemed perfect. 

The morning we arrived at the Colorado Burial Preserve, we all noticed how many beautiful wild sunflowers were growing all around the grounds. The second thing I saw was the simple, wood coffin my birth father Art, who deeply loved Lynne even though their relationship had been tumultuous, had made for her. Art is a master craftsman, and seeing this biodegradable vessel he made to return Lynne to the earth packed a punch in the middle of my chest – it is a particular sensation to see a box that holds the body of someone you once knew, even if only a bit, inside. 

When we approached the grave – which had been dug by the amazing director there, Emily, who manages the burial preserve – we saw that the bottom was lined with straw and sprinkled with the sunflowers we had marveled at driving in. I know I speak for us all when I say that there was something so thoughtful and beautiful about that touch; it slightly took my breath away. 

After placing the coffin over wooden slats on the top of the grave, we each had our chance to say or share anything we wanted. Since I did not know Lynne well, I didn’t feel like I had personal words to share with her; but I did want to wish her well in a way that was meaningful to me. So I sang these verses from Wardruna’s Helevegan: 

Who shall sing me,

Into deathsleep sling me,

Whence I on the path to Hel go,

And this track I tread

Is cold, so cold, so cold.

 

Early or in the day's end,

The raven still knows if I fall.

 

Once you stand at the gate to Hel

And when you have to tear free,

I shall follow you

Over Gjallarbrú2 with my song.

 

You will be free from the bonds that bind you,

You are free from the bonds that bound you

After everyone had a chance to share, we lowered Lynne’s coffin in the ground using ropes. Emily then explained to us a ritual for beginning the process of filling the grave in: the first time you put the shovel in the pile of dirt next to the grave, you put it in upside down. This means it is very hard to get any dirt on the top of the rounded side, of course, and this is meant to symbolize rejection of the death, and resistance. The second time you do it, however, you turn the shovel right side up; and this symbolizes acceptance. In addition to the first moment I saw the coffin, seeing – and even more so, hearing – dirt from my shovel fall on top of the coffin was the most intense moment for me. There is something extraordinarily powerful about actually burying someone – being an active agent in returning them to the dust. This is death faced head on; and that felt very right to me. 

It then took a good 30 minutes or so for all of us working together to fill the grave in. There is also an option at the Preserve to plant a stake in the grave so that a bird box can be constructed on it afterwards, turning the gravesite into a place for wild birds to flourish! Emily also occasionally added chunks of straw into the accumulating dirt, explaining how this was going to help create air pockets and also enrich the soil so that Lynne’s grave could be a part of restoring what used to be prairie and grazing land, in the centuries before colonization. This is the other amazing part of the Preserve; by laying your loved ones to rest there, you and they can help restore a natural landscape. What a beautiful way to thank the Earth for all she gives us. 

Once we had filled in the grave, Emily gave us handfuls of Colorado wildflower seeds to plant all over it, so we were also able to shape Lynne’s resting site with our bare hands. My sister Maria said she had brought some water we could wash our hands with afterwards; my other sister Michelle said she wouldn’t mind if the dirt stayed under her fingernails for a while. Then we covered the top with one last layer of wild sunflowers before saying our last goodbyes. 

The whole experience was so fucking beautiful, and felt so right – this was a ritual of acknowledging death that allowed those who loved Lynne or were touched by her life to play an active role in returning her to the earth, and to do so in a way that honored them both. There’s no doubt in my mind that this is how I want to be returned to the soil one day, as well. 

So much thanks to Emily,  who brings to what she is doing at the Preserve such thoughtfulness and passion.