the memorial bench

I spend a great deal of time in nature. At local parks, preserves, nature sanctuaries. I find these spaces calming, peaceful, mentally and physically exhilarating and comforting. A walk in the woods, around a park lagoon, along a boardwalk, helps to quiet the mind, refresh the soul.  Most often, on a walk, I will come upon a park bench. One with a memorial plate.  A dedication to someone who no longer walks this earth. But whose essence remains, just the same.  Someone loved that person enough to buy space on a bench to honor them. And, likely, to be able to visit that park bench, sit down, and feel their presence once more.

My parents died many years apart. But both had wished to be cremated when they died. And to have their ashes scattered upon a river up north, in a park that meant a great deal to them in their younger years.
We honored those wishes, both times.  Made the trek five hours north, and scattered their ashes as requested.  The moments were special, and memorable, of course.  

But years later, more than a decade, from time to time, I feel a need to visit them.  I have made the trip a couple times, to that river up north. And spent time on the bridge from which their ashes fell. But it's a journey not easily made in a moments notice. 

I tell myself it doesn't matter. That I can feel near to them by opening a photo album, listening to a special song, or re-imagining a special moment or memory. But sometimes, I feel the need to find a peaceful spot,  to sit, reflect. Maybe even talk to them. Out loud. 

Sometimes I talk to them when I'm driving in my car. Sometimes I drive by my mothers old apartment, just to see if her aura resonates there. Sometimes I visit old cemeteries and talk to them as I walk the paths of gravestones, songbirds singing overhead. Even though they aren't buried there, in my mind there is still some otherworldly connection. Cemeteries are where we bury the dead. But aren't they really there for the living? For those the deceased leave behind? So we can visit them, somehow.

I know I'm not alone in this. Lots of people are cremated, and their ashes scattered in far away places. Some people go missing, and never return. Some die in foreign lands and cannot be returned, or cannot be returned to. Whatever the situation, I've no doubt that the loved ones left behind yearn for a touchstone, a place to be quiet, and imagine a continued connection.

Grief is a difficult thing. It eases over time, but it never truly leaves you. So, I have this fantasy of a memorial bench in every park, meant for anyone who grieves another. Who grieves the loss of a loved one. A place where they can sit and be with their thoughts and memories, and feel the essence of that missing soul nearby.  I suppose it really doesn't matter if there is a memorial plate on the bench. A name, or a message, a poem, or quote. Every park bench could be considered a memorial bench.  Except those signs do mean something. They say to the world that this is a memorial bench. That this is a special place. That this person should be remembered. Is remembered. And your lost loved one deserves to be remembered, too. 

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​Scattered ashes
Missing souls
Here, a touchstone
For those we loved
​And the days we mourn



(c)2020 Kimberly Mackowski