Black Rock Mountain- Mountain City GA.

For a little over a year my Fathers ashes sat closed in the small bag the funeral home gave us. Cremains they are called. Dad died on April 4, Easter Sunday 2010.

Friday evening near sunset, my family gathered on Black Rock Mountain in Georiga. It was on this mountain that my Fathers ashes were to be scattered. This was his last wish and we were prepared to see it carried out. The sky grew dark as sunset approached. The leaves on the trees twisted in the wind indicating rain was imminent. The view from this board walk was magnificent and one he would have loved. Perhaps he too had stood there. Most likely he had at some point. Before us lie a mountain vista layered in rolling valleys of various shades of blues and grays. We carefully opened the bag that held my Fathers ashes. His second wife's ashes were to be scattered with his. After 78 years of life, what remains is a small bag of dust. Almost resembling beach sand and shells but finer and lighter. I lightly touched the surface. My finger leaving an impression in the dust. He is not this dust. He is in my heart, but this is what is left of him on Earth.

First a toast. Shot glasses, tequila limes and salt came along for this final send off. My brother Ken and I took turns scattering the ashes and hearing them fall on the green foliage below. It sounded like rain. It was new. Spring gifts this mountain range with an array of deciduous trees, most of which had leaves. The recent tornado took a swipe at this old mountain, but didn't destroy this section of the park. Much like relationships, they weather change.
Our life here on Earth is where we leave our impressions,
our scars,
ourselves.
By the choices we make, the lives we touch and the love we give.

This last year has been a roller coaster of emotions. Some good days and some not so good days. The lives that have touched mine have left their fingerprints on my soul. For them I am forever grateful. They have lifted me through difficult times and held me from a distance as I healed. Healing, is an ongoing process, that I'm certain. When I went through this as a 15 year old with my Mothers death, I had just 15 years of reference. This time, 35 years later, with the last parent carries a completely different, longer perspective. More water under the proverbial bridge. More memories, more 'what if's'.
More.


Our lives are not what remains as dust. It's all the day to day small, seemingly insignificant things that make us who we are. We are not dust at the end. We are souls going their way leaving behind who we became.
We are who we make of ourselves with every breath. We are wind and light and memories and love.
We are the life of life and what we chose to make with that life is ours to chose.

Ashes to ashes - dust to dust.
Rest well Dad- you are home.

Love,
Your Pumpkin

Photos: Jon Hecker

Kenneth R. Swearingen - My Dad

October 1, 1931 - April 04, 2010

The night before Easter I was in my studio working when my husband Jon told me my Father was in the hospital. I froze as he filled me in on the details from my brothers call. He took ill very suddenly. I somehow imagined the worst. Maybe it was my minds way of preparing myself.
The following day, on Easter morning, my Father died.

I've become very quiet. Kind of weird for me. The weather that day was amazing. A gentle wind all day that seemed to give me peace. A perfect spring day followed by a night sky filled with stars. The handle of the big dipper arched across the sky and pointed directly to Polaris- the North Star - a sign of guidance and direction. In the days to come, I knew I would need that compass. I tried to stay busy. The wind gave me peace, I'm not sure why, but it did. In the quiet hours that followed I let myself feel the pain I'd been pushing away all day. I realized I was alive and my Dad had been gifted a beautiful day on which to go to heaven. For a spiritual man, dying on the day of Resurrection was a gift granted him from above, of that I am certain.

The days that followed were a frenzy of planning, packing, phone calls, airports, schedules and tears. When that subsides there comes a time when the quiet sets in. The flowers faded, the ceremony over, the immediacy of things - done. In that space, one goes over in their head all that's transpired. Fragments of thoughts and feelings that may stay forever ingrained in my head rewind and play over and over.

When my Mom died when I was 15. My clearest memory was of my Dad, my brother and I walking away from her grave site in the cold wet grass. A very alone feeling as we left behind the 'glue' of our family never to be hugged again.
A very alone feeling I have never forgotten. I hate wet grass.
There was no wind that day. Just wet grass and an empty feeling inside.
These recent images are clear now, but they too will eventually fade.
Some will stay I'm certain.
The way the air felt.
The way sunlight came pouring into the church.
The fragrance of all the flowers and incense mixed together.
The faces of friends and co-workers sharing their feelings.
The pain of 'what ifs' that surface in my head late at night when it's dark.
The peace of knowing my Mom and Dad are re-united.
The alone feeling over the loss of both of them.

I think my Father knew he was dying, but kept it to himself. The last secret he could keep was to accept his mortality on his own terms. He wrote his own obituary in the weeks prior to his death. His memorial Mass was just as he would have wanted it to be. The smell of the Easter lilies and other flowers filled the air. It was personal, solemn and ended with a Marine Corp Honor Guard. Nine shots fired into the cloudless sky. A United States flag was ceremonially folded and handed to my brother outside the metal roofed country church he attended. Under the portico, the breeze blew as we stood mesmerized by the careful, calculated gestures these dedicated older Veterans displayed.
I felt relieved Dad had the type of send off he would have wanted.

My Dad was 78 years old. He lived a good life. His death came unexpectedly to all of us. His parents lived well into their 90's and I figured he would too. He outlived two wives and left behind an older brother. He was fortunate to have found love more than once in his lifetime. Not all are so blessed.
At his funeral were people he worked with, his family, his 9 year old neighbor girl and his friends. One of them a young Marine named Ian in full dress uniform. He had befriended my Dad at the courthouse and in doing so found a mentor. His being there struck a cord in me. After he received communion at the altar, he placed his white gloved hand on the box containing my Fathers ashes. He too had lost a friend. So many people knew my Dad on levels so different than how I knew him. He had made his life in the mountains of Georgia and he'd made a difference in other people's lives.

I'm struggling with all that is hitting me. Over the years, I had a challenging relationship with my Dad, but we'd made peace and I knew he loved me. In his post office box were a tin of cookies I'd just sent. He never got them. In his last weeks I shared with him some personal issues I'm facing and he didn't pass judgement on me. That may have been his last real gift to me - the fact he didn't pass judgement. Never would I have guessed that would have been his legacy or in doing so it would mean so much to me.

When we visited my Dads home after the funeral, we found a wind chime hanging in his tree. His gardens were beginning to bloom and life was returning. My brother and I looked at where he'd lived out his final days and we both agreed, he's not there anymore. Ken carefully untied the wire holding the chimes in the tree. The white angel with the broken wing that was in his backyard will come live with us too- wherever we live, and in the wind we'll find peace.

I love you Dad.

♥

Cancer Sucks Rubber Stamped TattooDreams Box

This handmade cherry box measures 8" wide x 8 3/4" deep x 7 1/4" high (203.2 cm x 222.25 cm x 184.15 cm ). Cancer Sucks- I know first hand. I lost my Mom to breast cancer before mammograms had been developed. I was 15. She was 45. I know the toll it took on her, me, our whole family. I've seen this repeated among too many friends.

Why did I make this? Perhaps to aid in my own healing and help others. In creating this box, my hands found themselves reaching for a wide variety of word stamps in my collection. Everything from "laughter" to "sorrow". Tears mixed with paint and this empty box was transformed. This disease, like so many others, transforms. It brings so many emotions and memories to the surface.
My box may be just the 'right' gift for a friend going through this. Some days you laugh, other days you cry and in the end, you find a healing balance that gets you through whatever fate is planning on handing you. A good place to write down your feelings and tuck them inside. A cathartic worry box that can help.

Finished with a clear spray on the outside and left natural maple on the inside. Lined with black velvet on the bottom. Trimmed in shades of pink.

My boxes are quietly making their way into esteemed collections around the world- let yours be one of them!

••I love making special things for special people!••

More boxes can be found on my etsy site:

The Adventures of Baxter.......

Baxter is our newest tiger. A beautiful loving feline who pounced into our hearts last fall. He lived for a short time in our studio until the window of time opened that we could integrate him with our three other tigers. He's made a fine transition to his new home and is the softest, funniest cat. It's so nice having a kitten in our midst. Their amazing sense of wonder and soft playful ways are like nothing else.
Peace itself, wrapped in fur.
A rambunctious play hard, sleep hard lifestyle is his agenda.

For the past day or so we've had high winds sweep across our property. Gusts exceeding 35 mph for certain. Our wind bells and chimes have been eliciting the sounds of spring as robins and cardinals find their way about. We love wind and this time of year we know it brings with it the change we've been anticipating!

Last night all four kitties were taking wind baths on the upper deck, doors open to their magical, safe, star-lit playground. Jon realized one was missing..........OMG........a missing child........I should have been more diligent!
Who was it, where were they and how long had they been gone? All these thoughts and more raced through my head.
It was Baxter!
He either was swept off his paws by the gusts of wind or decided to leap from the deck. We think the later. Either way, he happily greeted us by the back door, came in and rolled around on the floor. He wasn't out long! We think his curiostiy overtook his good sense and he leaped over the edge to explore further what was in the yard below. We've asked him to promise not to pull this again.
Cats have 9 lives.
48 year olds don't!

So as I craft my blog entry, this diminutive package of fur covered love sleeps sprawled out on the couch of the same color. The last beams of sunlight warming his face.
He's pure peace and we all found one another at a very good time. His pulsing paws are hopefully not planning his next escape!

Above is a photo of Baxter near the hand painted hanging bead curtain in our kitchen.

Sending love and furry hugs to all my blog readers this windy March day........Spring is around the corner!

Patricia