I am writing to you all because this is really about all of us. Yesterday I was privileged to be able to perform my last duty to my parents, Lowell and Billie Evans, along with my children, grandchildren and loved ones who worked hard to be with me.
My parents had decided to be cremated after their many road trips, and “seeing how much space the dead folks take up”. My dad passed in 1998 and
my mom in 2013, and both were cremated. With one thing and another, they had stayed in their urn and box, respectively, until now.
Divvying up the family into two vehicles, we drove out to the coast, stopping at the lumberjack themed Camp 18 for a delicious lunch. Dancing bears and lots of good food started the day right.
Near the wreck of the Peter Iredale, which went aground in 1906, we found a quiet chunk of beach and built a sandcastle. Kids hauled water and collected shells for decoration, parents dug moats and built a multi-tiered castle, and my parents were integrated into the nature they loved so much.
After a sandy, wet, happy day at the beach, we celebrated as my father would have, with ice cream (gelato, actually) , kids playing at a park and arcade, and the long drive home.
I kept waiting to cry, but I never did. Crying at this point would come from regret, and I have none. My parents lived honorable, happy lives, and died when it was their time. No one can ask for more.
I am everlastingly grateful for my family, past, present, and future.
Love, Grandma Judy