remember your death.

We had some snow and sleet on Monday evening, and temperatures have been so cold that things remain closed and cancelled, including last night’s Ash Wednesday service.

Atticus has been enthusiastic about Ash Wednesday for the past few weeks (I would say “oddly enthusiastic” but he is my kid so I am raising him to be a church nerd. Of course he is enthusiastic), so we didn’t want to disappoint him. I checked with some churchy friends to see if applying ashes ourselves would be heretical and decided to stake my claim with the priesthood of the believers. We were fresh out of palm leaves, so Mike burned a piece of the Japanese maple beside our side door. I applied the olive oil to make it stick, and we were ready for business.

Except. Watching the minister put ashes on your kid (as in years past) is different than putting them on him yourself, telling him that he is made from dust and to dust he shall return. My heart froze up a little bit as I said the words. No, I thought, he was made from love and grew inside me. I repeated the words as I marked Mike’s forehead, and he repeated them for me.

The part that went unspoken is that today is my dad’s birthday. I never know how to mark these anniversaries, but I feel their presence just as I feel his absence. Talking to Atticus about his own death was made even more intense by that reminder of what my dad has not been present for. At the same time, remembering my dad made me less afraid. We talk to Atticus about death all the time, to the point that he knows where my dad’s ashes are. I am thankful that the church gives us a season to talk openly about death’s place in our lives as we prepare for the Resurrection.

As soon as I applied his ashes, Atticus ran to check them in the mirror. I won’t say that we did a great job pondering our mortality yesterday, but we did follow through on one of my most deeply-held values, which is allowing Atticus to participate in the activities of the church, whether he understands them or not. Even if they make us all a little uncomfortable.


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