Four and a half months: The beginning of the end...I hope.

Saturday I added his ashes to the sea. Our grandchildren flew kites.  I set him on the beach in the white box, and his dog Cowboy laid down next to him, and watched him, and waited.  When I took him down to the sea, Cow followed, and sniffed the box as I opened it, and wagged his tail as if to tell me it was ok.  My big black dog Bear ran in with me, watching his momma, doing his job.  My father and brother and sister and children and family waited while I walked into the cold, cold ocean, and I opened up that bag, and I watched the ashes swirl and move and it was beautiful, somehow.  I felt like I had set him free. I watched a wave come and take it all, and then he was gone, and I turned back to the shore, back to life, back to my family.  I ran through the cold, my big black dog at my side, shivering, and they wrapped their arms around me, all of them, and I cried, and I was not cold anymore.