Becoming the Storm
48 River of Life
WE CALLED IT A RIVER. Really it was just a bed of smooth stones—pea gravel—with occasional large stones interrupting it. It was where we’d brought Lexi’s ashes and placed memorial plaques for Lexi, Denise, and Jack Raymond. I never thought of how my special on CEN and subsequent television talk show appearances would turn this into a public shrine.
“Papa Sly, is this okay?” I asked as we walked together toward the back of the ranch. “We never intended for it to become a tourist attraction. I’m afraid I’ve dishonored her.” We walked in silence and I was worried that he was offended. John always took a lot of time to consider a question and answered carefully. Sly wasn’t like that. He would rip an answer off immediately and justify it later. Having him silent disturbed me. We stopped where the gravel path began and took off our shoes.
“Let’s walk the path,” he said.
For having only a few days to put things together, the clan had done an amazing job under Angela, Rhiannon, and Larry’s guidance. There was a straight path that led up the left side of the property—actually on the other side of the fencerow on John’s property. After it passed the vegetable gardens and the main part of the pasture, it stopped and turned into the pasture where a gravel path about three feet wide began. It was paved with the same type of pea gravel as the River of Life, but where the river had multicolored stones, the stones in the path were all gray. This path was not straight. At first it made a gentle arc and then split into two paths. A simple arrow pointed us to the righthand path. This path bent gradually toward and into the woods, and then wound back down to the edge of the River. The path touched the River at that point, but a simple white chain directed us around to the right. The path went away from the River and we lost sight of the garden behind the hedge before it wound back to run parallel and touching the River. This happened two more times with the path winding away and then back to the river. At the last point where it touched, a basket of stones sat. A small sign read, ‘If you wish to create a memory of someone who has gone before, gently cast a pebble from this basket into the River. Please do not leave other mementos. Thank you.’
Sly and I each picked a pebble from the basket and after a moment’s hesitation, tossed it into the River of Life—just a field of like pebbles. I sighed and heard a sigh from Sly as well.
“I think it is right, don’t you?” Sly said. “We are not making it a commercial attraction. There will certainly be some who come only to see the site. But most, I believe, will come in a spirit of respect and will find some small comfort in casting a stone in memory of their loved ones. She caused us to build something simple to remember her and our tribe. But like many simple things, it has come to mean so much more to so many others. Personally, I am looking forward to the day that my ashes join my daughter’s.” He paused and looked at me. “But not before I have grandchildren by my other daughter!”
We laughed. Actually laughed. He put his arm over my shoulders and we continued on the path, which led into the woods and eventually rejoined a few yards from where the gravel path had begun. We put our shoes on and turned toward the house.
Amber was waiting for us on the path back to the house. She didn’t seem to be looking toward us at first, but out toward the River. Sly sighed.
“There is a young woman who needs us,” Sly said. “Her parents abandoned her—abused her. Her best friend was murdered in front of her. She has nightmares and feels guilty. Sound familiar?” he asked. I nodded.
“What can I do, Sly?”
“Nothing. Amber, honey, are you waiting for us?” he called out. She turned toward us.
“Papa Sly, can I just… Is it okay just to walk with you a while?”
“Of course it is,” he answered. “Do you want to go out and spend a few minutes with her before others arrive?” Amber nodded. Sly put an arm around her shoulders and turned back the way we’d come. “I never get tired of visiting her. I’ll see you later, Brian.” He and Amber kicked their shoes off at the beginning of the path and continued to walk along with Amber leaning against him.
You can’t replace a daughter. But I guess you can’t turn a blind eye to a daughter in need, either.
There was a line of visitors at noon. Whitney and Judy organized cousins to direct traffic to the studio parking area where other cousins and parents directed pilgrims to the path. Along the path, clan cousins joined the procession and explained what people were about to experience, asking them politely to respect others visiting and the memory of those who were at rest. Of course, Rose, in her full ceremonial robes, stood at the beginning of the path.
“We are not placing restrictions and a lot of rules on people,” she said as each group stopped at the beginning of the path. “Respect for our loved ones and respect for each other is all we ask. There is no rule about it, but if you are able to do so, we recommend removing your shoes before you walk this path. You will like the feeling of the stones beneath your feet. Please do not cross the white chains that separate the stream from the river at the four points where they touch. At each of those four points, you will find a basket of pebbles. If you would like to commit the memory of a loved one to the River, please gently toss a stone into the River. Please do not leave any other mementos or gifts. Thank you and continue in peace.”
About twenty at a time were allowed through and Rose sent another group five minutes later. April and Jason were stationed unobtrusively near the garden with cameras trained on the pilgrims. There were people from the clan stationed about every twenty yards all the way from the barn around the entire route, making sure that no one needed assistance. It was a cloudy day, but the temperature still was near ninety. Every other station had a cooler of water. We’d learned our lessons about heat and dehydration two years ago.
I saw amazing things that day. Nearly three hundred people made the circuit in the two hours we kept the gates open. Some folks were laughing when they started the journey, but once people set their feet on the gravel, something changed. I could name the four stations after what I saw there. Expectancy. Memory. Sorrow. Release. A few people tossed pebbles into the River of Life at the first station. Many people tossed pebbles at the last station. A lot of people left the garden in tears. Making their way back to the parking lot, most were silent. I noticed that people became quieter on their approach after they started passing people returning. The few people who kept their shoes on at the beginning removed them by the time they were half way around. Many did not put their shoes back on until they had reached the parking lot.
We waited until the all-clear bell rang before slowly making our own way around the path. Several of us stepped into the river to rake the stones and create patterns that were reminiscent of water. We also raked the path smooth.
It was less than an hour after the gates closed that we all were out of the field and back in our homes. We felt like we had done a good thing.
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