Last week, I watched someone pour ashes by a bench at this park. I’d noticed her sitting with an older woman with a bright purple bouquet next to them that caught my eye, and within seconds, she got up and started pouring out the ashes from a small plastic baggie. My heart skipped a beat like I’d encroached on a private moment, but there was no helping it; I was seated in the car parked right next to them. I was sharing this moment, whether I’d planned to or not. I said a silent prayer as we peeled away. Eventually, I cried.
