In the early spring of 1999, I disremember the exact date, my brother, sister and I headed down to Panama City, Florida to meet with my father and several other members of the family to say a few words over my Momma and finally lay some of her remains with the remains of her parents, Granny and Grandpa Tharpe. Granny and Grandpa are the folks I write about so much with such fondness and love.
I don’t know how many of you know it, but my mother was cremated. To begin with, I didn’t care for the idea too much; but after a bit of reflection, I have come to appreciate the gift Momma gave all of us in her final request. As she lay dying she requested that her remains not be laid to rest in one place, but rather to be divvied up and spread over several different places. To me she requested that a portion of her ashes be spread over Cades Cove up in the Smoky Mountains. Now Cades Cove is one of my favorite places. The peace and serenity of the place is beyond compare, not to mention the beauty. Many times over the years Momma, Dad and the family would slowly make our way around the cove, counting deer and hoping that just once a bear would show itself. My family has continued that tradition.
To my brother Mom requested that a portion of her remains be spread over the waters of Whiskey Slough. Now Whiskey Slough is a place where Mike and I and my Granny and Grandpa spent many hours fishing in those wonderful years of childhood.
Whiskey Slough is just a bit of a turn off on the Big Brothers River down near Wewahitchica, Florida. I cannot begin to count the times we all drove down on a Wednesday morning at the crack of dawn to Willis Landing to put in at the river and head for Whiskey Slough. The joyful memory of just sitting there watching my cork and listening to the quiet wind blow through the cypress will forever be a place I go in my mind to escape from the hectic life I lead. I can still recall times when Granny, Grandpa and I sat for hours, not catching a thing, and not caring.
To my sister Mom asked that a portion of her remains be placed behind the house near Lexington. You see my sister wasn’t one for fishing and the like. She was raised a few years after Mike and me and by then Granny and Grandpa were slowing down and the fishing was less frequent. Jane spent most of her time at home, so her memories lived in that house and the surrounding land. Jane lives a stones throw away from Mom’s place and as Mom got weaker, Jane took the lead in caring for her. Many times she would leave her home to go down to Mom and do whatever needed to be done for Momma. Jane’s love for Mom was displayed through her actions.
She also asked Jane to put some of her remains out along Thomas Drive on Panama City Beach. Now Thomas Drive is the main drag down there, and a great deal of my mother was formed along that road. It was where she spent her teenage years. It was where she first fell in love. It was home.
A few days before we all had to leave home to head back home Dad, Jane, Mike and I made the tour of the Panama City area and fulfilled my Mother’s request. On Thursday morning Dad, Mike and I headed for Wewahitchica and Willis Landing while Jane headed for the beach. When we reached Wewa, the first thing we did was to head for the dam that spans the Dead Lakes. I have written often of my adventures there with my grandparents, of the fishing and fun.
As I walked that dam one more time, I remembered some of the most wonderful times I had as a child. I remembered leaning over that dam hunting for the illusive fresh water mullet. I remembered catching countless fish. I remembered a time when life was one long summer, a time when the simple pleasure of doing nothing was thrilling. I remembered what was truly important in this life: family, friends and love.
Early on Thursday afternoon Mike, Dad and I boarded a borrowed boat and headed down the river to Whiskey Slough. As we pulled into the entrance I was once again flooded with memories, each and every one of them filled with joy. When we finally drifted to a stop, Mike opened the box and sprinkled a portion of the ashes into the water, followed by Dad. As for me, I held the boat steady and simply watched as the remains of the one from whom I received my life slowly settled to the bottom of a place loved by Mom, and her Mom and Dad and her son.
As I watched a bit of my pain and sorrow settled to the bottom as well. As Mom’s ashes intermingled with the muddy waters of home, I once again became her child. Not the child of a mother who is lost, but of a mother who continues to help me deal with the pain of life. In this particular case, the pain of her parting.
At that moment I realized that in spite of my self-control, in spite of the measure of my mother’s strength within me, I am a broken man. Healed a bit by the love and wisdom of a mother who knew how hard saying goodbye would be, but broken nonetheless.
Thank God that he heals the wounded heart!
Tony Rowell
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