Step Away

“Step away from my brother’s grave,” I say.

Two women have approached his headstone while I am at the water spigot by the road. One has her phone out and leans over, snapping photos. The other picks up the bubble wand lying next to a large lit candle. They ignore me.

“Step away from my brother’s grave,” I repeat, striding toward them, up the hill.

They do not.

Adrenalized, I sprint the last few yards and insert myself between them and the headstone. “Step away from my brother’s grave!”

They do not. “We’re making a report,” says the shorter one. “This can’t be here,” she gestures to the candle. The taller one leans over to blow out the flame and I shove her away, hard.

“It is his birthday,” I roar. “I need to say a prayer!”

“Leave her alone,” says the shorter one to the taller surprised woman. I am ready and willing to fight. This is sacred space. I will defend it.

Finally, after agreeing to extinguish the candle myself when I am done, they turn and walk out of the children’s section to their vehicle. They sit and watch as I sing, blow bubbles, cry, and laugh. John is amused by his big sister’s ire. He cannot be hurt anymore, his bones are dust. I know this, yet pacifist me is ready to rumble.

I blow out the candle and kiss the headstone. Mom’s ashes are here too now, a double whammy. John’s birthday — May 28 — is the day she began her transition back to God, back to Love, back to her true Self, leaving her tired body behind. This is her anniversary.

I step away from their grave, and fill bottles with holy water. I’m heading south and west, back to the Sea.