Over the past 2 years or so, most of my family and some friends have told me I need to move where it is more convenient, and I would be within walking distance of stores, etc. My neighbor thought I should consider assisted living. I told him, finally, that I was not in that kind of shape. I may not walk real well, but I am far from needing that kind of assistance. He was 71, and had heart disease. I assume his thoughts were coming from his own point of view. And, indeed, he did pass away last summer. Yes, there are a lot of people who live off the grid back in the hollows, and yes there is a lot of history near by of the KKK, but I won't move.

My step daughter mentioned it recently. So I told her what I have never been able to say before. We keep the silliest secrets sometimes, but this may be an exception. I held onto my husband's ashes for over a year. I had them in his humidor on my night stand. Most people have a place in the cemetery where the ashes are laid to rest. My husband wanted me to disperse them on our property. He never really said where, but I knew he would want them down by the pond. I just had to wait until I was ready. They were after all his remains. Oddly, I felt a bit of comfort knowing they were there.

About a year ago, I reached that point. I can't walk well, so I took his walking stick, which I will keep forever, and I began walking. It wasn't that far, but for me it wasn't so easy. I have neuropathy and can't really feel much of my feet. I kept losing my shoes and having to walk back to find them. I'd get stuck in a bramble bush, and have to retreat to find another way down. I sort of tripped over a log, retrieved my shoes again, and finally I was there.

I had my husband's ashes, and one of our dog's ashes - Raven. He always kept them for me, because she was a favorite dog. I couldn't bare the thought of seeing her as a tin of ashes, but after my husband died - well, I got used to it. They should go together, I thought. So, I started with hers. It wasn't so bad. I said the Lord's prayer, read some scripture, and I started. It was so relieving to send them both back to nature, full cycle.

The thing is, when I got to his box of ashes, they were not totally ashes. I knew that bones didn't just burn to ashes, and I knew how crematoriums took care of it. I dispersed most of the ashes, feeling so much better. It was want he wanted. Then came the bones. I held one three inch bone in my hand. I would guess a clavicle bone probably. I stared at it for awhile. The shock of realizing this was what was left of my husband hit me hard that moment. Then I took a deep breath, kissed it, and dropped in an area I would remember. It definitely changed the tone of the moment. I finished, and walked back to the house. I knew then I would never move. That pond is the only memorial left of my husband. That is where I laid him to rest, by myself, with my own prayer. It hit me in the gut, thinking later that I had no flowers, no showing, no casket, and no neighbors sent me casseroles, nor did family call much to see how I was.

So, as relieving as it was, I realized that a funeral is much more than just a word. Just following through with the rituals, getting all the flowers, and having all the visitors is also symbolic of recognizing the finality of the situation, grieving together, working through it together. In my case, I did what Bob wanted me to do. He wanted a wake after that, but everyone had already moved on - except me. Nobody seemed to get it that though they had their time to work through it together, I didn't have anyone. I got a few cards from family and friends. That was all.

Bob and I were loners. I remain a loner. But, there is a price for our privacy. I got through two years, and I'll keep going. I am happy with just being me, independent and a loner. But, I won't forget that there is a price to pay. I wouldn't wish that on anyone.