Do the Thing (You’re Most Dreading)

Woke this morning aware that March 15th was falling on a Sunday, and that the weather would be not unlike the day he died. I was in no rush for this day to start so I set no alarms and slept through all the early morning time stamps associated with this Sunday morning in 2009.

One look at the gray, blustery sky and I’m in no rush to transfer the ash from his urn to a Ziploc either. Quite handily put off that task until there are no more dishes to wash, clothes to put away, showers to take. With nothing left to delay the inevitable, I do the thing I am dreading.

And quickly follow it with the thing I’m not dreading: calling his mom in Miami. We catch up on Hilda’s world and I share my plan for the day. I confess that the grumpy weather is apropos but disappointing, and promise to send her photos of the ritual.

I dress with neither hurry nor enthusiasm, but as I’m lacing up my Chuck Taylors, sunshine spreads across the apartment. I text Hilda: The sun just came out!!! First showing all day!

Her reply: The sun coming out was a wish from me, your “Next Best Thing.” I love you.

I am now speed-tossing things into my bag, queuing up Alberto’s playlist and tying my scarf in the elevator. Five minutes later, I’m at the florist, grateful that no one cares why I want the heads lopped off this bouquet of freesia. The sun follows me to 24th and Tenth, where I pass a sticker in the style of a graffiti artist whose work Alberto and I used to follow. (Bonus: heart shape.)

I walk faster.

So do the clouds.

The wind is strong and the sun is gone by the time I cross Westside Highway. I don’t know exactly where I’m spreading him, so I wander the empty Hudson River Park in hope that the sun will return by the time I figure it out.

I stumble on a cluster of stone boulders in black sand, which strikes me as a puerile version of Stonehenge. 

As I finish shooting it, the sun reappears.

I’ve learned not to squander the sunshine on days like this, and the Hudson is but a few steps away, so I pull out my words and Ziploc bags.

I release them into the body of water that was the backdrop for so many of our summer memories.

And will continue to be.