In the book “Everything I Wanted to Tell You,” which I published in 2007, there is a fictional letter from a mother to her three children, in which she gives instructions on where they should throw his ashes after he is cremated. A joke: she wants to spread out to certain cities where she was happy, thus favoring a little trip for her children who “never get off the office chair, it even looks like they sleep with a tie”. She urges them to live a little, even if to do so she must die.
Unlike funerals, I have never associated the ritual of scattering ashes with a moment of solemnity and sadness, on the contrary, I have always sympathized with its possibility of humor — anyone who has watched the film “The Big Lebowski”, by the Coen brothers, will remember the final scene. Many years ago, I was a regular at a restaurant in Porto Alegre, where I laughed incessantly in the midst of love and friendship, and it was there, on the sidewalk, that I said my ashes should be scattered. The restaurant died before me and I’m still looking for a place that represents me. Today, like the character in my book, I like the idea of dispersing myself in installments, here and there, in order to celebrate life in motion.
Now I have had the unprecedented experience of releasing someone’s ashes. Unlike fiction, in which anything is possible, we are only allowed to throw cremation ashes in wide open environments and in compliance with local regulations, which is why many family members choose the sea, rivers and mountains for this act. It also seemed like the right thing to do, and the emotion was complete – from laughter to tears, with no fuss or drama.
We weren’t in a movie, but the scenery looked like one. There was none of the pomp of a funeral. It was an intimate and joyful farewell, early and sunny. There were no bells, no church organ, no furtive sobs, just the sound of birds continuing to sing, oblivious to the scene. No audience other than two people. Even death wasn’t invited.
From dust we came, to dust we will return, many think at the moment. But there is no dogma, precept or sentence that summarizes or justifies this choice. Everyone obeys their religion or what their heart tells them. It is a ceremony of liberation, for those of us who have spent our entire lives confined to apartments and rules, who have spent so much energy to be where we are expected, to do what we are told. We give back absolute freedom to those we love. I know it’s all symbolic, that there’s no one else there, that it’s just remnants of what’s gone, but the relevance of the story always lies in the meaning we give it. Being part of this epilogue so full of life was the most beautiful page I have ever written.
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