Stardust

We sit in a circle. We’ve traveled hours, some for days, writers eager to hone our art. Compelled to travel here by the beauty surrounding us and the wisdom sitting in front of us. Beyond the windows, the water gracefully encircles islands who seem to have surfaced for a breath and decided to stay. If I allow my eyes to travel as far as they can, across the lush green grass, the shimmering water, the dotting of islands, they’ll land on the snowcapped mountain range of the Alaskan mainland. For a moment I’m inclined to believe that nothing rivals the handiwork of God my eyes are feasting on, but then she opens her mouth to read.

My attention is instantly drawn back to our circle as the familiar words “ashes to ashes, dust to dust” ring in my ears, evoking memories, excavating emotion. I’ve spoken these same words over others repeatedly, as my finger, covered in ash, forms the shape of a cross on their foreheads. But tonight the words are falling from her lips, not mine. As she speaks, it’s not the familiar words that start my unraveling but the one she’s added at the end: stardust.

I’d entered the room late for the reading, the only chair remaining front and center next to the reader. Taking note that I was the only one on island time, I sat down. I don’t remember if it was the first, second, or third reading of the evening. I only remember that once she began, it didn’t take long for tears to spring to the surface and roll down my cheeks. The further she ventured into her piece, the further my tears descended, flowing into the recesses of my broken heart and soul. I was becoming a pool of emotion in front of people I barely knew. Nose dripping, shoulders shaking, I soaked up the balm of words pouring over me, freeing pain from deep loss, releasing lament for which I had no words.

Death is distant until it knocks at your door. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust—a simple spoken reality until it takes your child, your spouse, your mom, your star. And when your star falls from your life to the grave, no words suffice. Mine fell on the sixth of June 2022. Mom fell quickly, unexpectedly from our lives like a shooting star on a dark, starry night. With the extinguishing of her light, a deep darkness enveloped me, recurring images rendered me unable to sleep, questions plagued me. She loved me extravagantly, had I loved her enough?

The reader is coming to the end. I’m still listening as her words evoke longings that linger. How I long to hear her familiar voice as she walks through my front door. How I long to call her when my heart is unsettled. How I long to hear her laughter, see her smile, feel her embrace. How I long to join her ashes to ashes, dust to dust. The reading has ended. Still, the word hangs in the air, begging me to grab it—stardust.

Mom was my stardust, sprinkling the dust of unconditional love, encouraging me to be selfless. Mom was my stardust, sprinkling the dust of a generous spirit, teaching me to share. Mom was my stardust sprinkling the dust of selfless serving, inspiring me to give. Mom was? No, Mom is! She is my stardust.

Often I long to join her, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, but I too have stardust to spread.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, stardust to stardust.