At the close of the memorial ceremony I created for my father, my backyard was flooded with bright white light.
My father had died just two weeks short of his 65th birthday after an 18-month confrontation with cancer. He didn’t want a funeral, according to his wife, my stepmother. She was exhausted and didn’t want one for him either. But I knew I needed something.
Six months after his death I conducted a ceremony in my backyard. I planned it to coincide with a cross-county visit from my mother, who had been divorced from my father for over 25 years but needed to say her final good-bye.
A friend helped me pick the day of the week and time:
My father had died just two weeks short of his 65th birthday after an 18-month confrontation with cancer. He didn’t want a funeral, according to his wife, my stepmother. She was exhausted and didn’t want one for him either. But I knew I needed something.
Six months after his death I conducted a ceremony in my backyard. I planned it to coincide with a cross-county visit from my mother, who had been divorced from my father for over 25 years but needed to say her final good-bye.
A friend helped me pick the day of the week and time:
- Tuesday, June 4th. Mars rules Tuesdays and governs conflict, hunting, surgery, lust, physical strength, courage, politics, debate, athletics, war, contests, and rituals involving men. (That all sounded like my Dad – except the hunting.)
- 9:00 PM – the 1st lunar hour. Saturn rules the 1st lunar hour after sunset on Tuesdays and governs building, the elderly, funerals, wills, reincarnation, destroying diseases, terminations and death. (Yes.)
My guests processed through my dining room where I had laid out photos and artifacts from my Dad’s life – the veteran’s flag, the charcoal gray cashmere beret I’d bought him after his brain surgery, his beloved Acrostic puzzles. Among these items were index cards on which I’d written words to evoke my father’s spirit: Devoted doctor. Strong. Generous. Intelligent. Athletic. Loved good food, opera, fine wine, sweets and ice cream. Quick witted – funny. Accomplished. Driven. Loved.
We entered the backyard in early twilight and took our places in the circle. A friend led a short guided meditation to ground and center our energies before lighting the tiki torches.
As an invocation I placed a portion of my father’s ashes on our small altar table and played the Jim Croce song, Operator (“Oh would you help me place this call…”). I called the names of family not present: his wife, his sisters, my sister, his deceased parents. Other participants spoke the words describing my father I had written on the index cards.
I brought out copies of the memory book I had composed from the photos and stories solicited from family members and friends. In the presence of the circle, I bound each copy with a wide raffia ribbon.
Then I read aloud the things I needed to say to my Dad, written on a pilgrimage to the coast a few days earlier. We listened to a Bonnie Raitt's Circle Dance: “I’ve been too faithful all my life/ It’s time… to let… you go.”
By the light of the tiki torches, my mother and I each wrote on slips of paper things about my father, our relationship to him, and his passing. Those we wished to release we let burn in a bowl. Then, in a separate bowl, we burned those we wished to carry forward. These remains we mixed with my father’s ashes in a Mexican terra cotta planter shaped like a turtle. I nestled several small succulents in the soil and ash.
Then my friend led a closing meditation. Just as at sunset he had asked us to circle our energy around and around and down, to ground and center us in the opening of the ceremony, he now asked us to close our eyes and circle and circle our energy around and around and – up!
We entered the backyard in early twilight and took our places in the circle. A friend led a short guided meditation to ground and center our energies before lighting the tiki torches.
As an invocation I placed a portion of my father’s ashes on our small altar table and played the Jim Croce song, Operator (“Oh would you help me place this call…”). I called the names of family not present: his wife, his sisters, my sister, his deceased parents. Other participants spoke the words describing my father I had written on the index cards.
I brought out copies of the memory book I had composed from the photos and stories solicited from family members and friends. In the presence of the circle, I bound each copy with a wide raffia ribbon.
Then I read aloud the things I needed to say to my Dad, written on a pilgrimage to the coast a few days earlier. We listened to a Bonnie Raitt's Circle Dance: “I’ve been too faithful all my life/ It’s time… to let… you go.”
By the light of the tiki torches, my mother and I each wrote on slips of paper things about my father, our relationship to him, and his passing. Those we wished to release we let burn in a bowl. Then, in a separate bowl, we burned those we wished to carry forward. These remains we mixed with my father’s ashes in a Mexican terra cotta planter shaped like a turtle. I nestled several small succulents in the soil and ash.
Then my friend led a closing meditation. Just as at sunset he had asked us to circle our energy around and around and down, to ground and center us in the opening of the ceremony, he now asked us to close our eyes and circle and circle our energy around and around and – up!
“Raise your hands into the air and RELEASE!”
As we threw our hands into the air and opened our eyes, the backyard was suddenly flooded with bright white light.
We looked at each other stunned, speechless, then laughing, giddy, as we realized that we had tripped the motion detector for the security light.
We rose, and drank, and feasted together.
* * *
For more on my journey with my father: How I found Forgiveness, marking the 10-year anniversary of his death, the memorial stones created from his ashes, and the belated eulogy I wrote for him.
As we threw our hands into the air and opened our eyes, the backyard was suddenly flooded with bright white light.
We looked at each other stunned, speechless, then laughing, giddy, as we realized that we had tripped the motion detector for the security light.
We rose, and drank, and feasted together.
* * *
For more on my journey with my father: How I found Forgiveness, marking the 10-year anniversary of his death, the memorial stones created from his ashes, and the belated eulogy I wrote for him.
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