Washaway

North of Tokeland, on the southern coast of Washington, the ocean is as relentless and unstoppable as time itself. For years, the waves have carved away the shore, forging deeper and deeper inland. The cabin where my dad and his family spent their summers growing up is gone, taken under by the blitzing sea. So are two additional lots we enjoyed over the years.

Long before the waves of Washaway Beach began making their way inward, my grandparents were taking part in history. After the bombing of Pearl Harbor, my Granddad enlisted in the Marine Corps to fight in the Pacific. My Nana served as a Navy Nurse, mending the many broken bodies and broken souls of the war. Just four days before Japan's official surrender, Granddad was shot in the leg by a sniper in Okinawa. He bounced around hospitals and fell in love with one of the nurses. They married, settled in Seattle, and raised ten children. They spent a lot of time with the family out on the coast at the beach cabin.

The waves eventually began pushing forward. Nana and Granddad not only endured but enjoyed the unstoppable ocean. When it took the cabin, they bought a large lot farther inland and spent many more joyful years coming together there with the whole family. When this too fell victim, the family bought another property several blocks from the coastline and gathered there just about every summer. I have many fond memories there of adventures with my brothers, parents, aunts and uncles, cousins, and especially my Nana and Granddad. The ocean never stopped, and now that piece of land is simply sand beneath the waves just like the others.

Of course time never stopped either. Granddad passed away in 2001 when I was a sophomore in high school. Nana hung on longer but joined him last year. Their wish was to have their ashes spread together at the place they loved so much- Washaway Beach.

On Saturday, the whole Talevich family came together and brought both sets of ashes to a spot just outside of Tokeland at sunset. This beach sat right around where the cabin had been years before. The earth was torn and scarred from the charging sea. Trees were uprooted and sharp crumbling cliffs marked where the land was surrendering to the waves. But it was still strikingly beautiful.

We dug a hole in the sand and gathered around. A few words were said and then every family member had a chance to grab a handful of ashes and scatter them in the sand. The tide was on its way out, but we knew that eventually the waves would grab the ashes and bring them out to sea. Slowly, we took turns grabbing ashes and spreading them.

I took a handful of Nana's ashes, said a quick prayer, and spread them with the rest. Then I did the same for Granddad. I looked up and saw my dad heading towards the water. I remember once in middle school, when I was doing a report on Washaway Beach, I got to interview Granddad over the phone. The last thing he told me during the recording was, "I can never be too far from the ocean." I took another handful and followed my dad out to the waves. By then several others were doing the same. I placed my hands in the cold water and let go.

My aunt Becky walked past me, but instead of stopping at the waves, she began running up the shore. She skipped and frolicked towards the setting sun and then released the ashes. The wind swept them into the ocean. There was something purely beautiful about that moment. The unique playfulness, the joy of the moment- it was the essence of being a Talevich.

We put a lot of pressure on ourselves to properly honor those who have passed on. We spend hours upon hours and thousands of dollars on funeral arrangements, cemetery plots, coffins, flowers, cremations, urns, and everything else. We deliberate on where and how to spread ashes. We struggle with that essential question: What would they have wanted? I think all these traditions and gestures serve more purpose for the living than the dead. Nana and Granddad's ash spreading was done just right. But if they were looking down upon us at that moment, which I hope they were, I think they would find the most joy in seeing their big, happy, healthy, and quirky family sharing a moment together.

When it was done, we gathered around the pile of ashes, said some final words, and covered them with sand. Then we sang a few of Nana's favorite songs. As I looked around at all my relatives, I realized that the ashes didn't mean much to me. It was just dust. I found Nana and Granddad in that group around me, in their ten children, in the grandkids, and in everyone else who was part of the family they had raised. We all embody so many of their characteristics and qualities. There they were, right in the midst of our laughter and love. They will be still be there in all the future generations to come.

Time will continue to take as it pleases. The ocean will keep pushing its way in, reducing the earth to mere sand. But that Talevich spirit won't ever be washed away.