“More than anything else on earth, I do not want Sam ever to blow away, but you know what? He will. His ashes will stick to the fingers of someone who loves him. Maybe his ashes will blow that person into a place where things do not come out right, when things cannot be boxed up or spackled back together but where somehow he or she can see, with whatever joy can be mustered, the four or five leaves on the formerly barren tree.
“Mom?” he called out suddenly in his sleep.
“Yes,” I whispered, “here I am,” and he slung his arm toward the sound of my voice, out across my shoulders.
-Traveling Mercies by Anne Lamott