As some of you know my relationship with my mom was a very close one. People have always commented, both while she was alive and since she has passed, on the close bond that we shared. The six months and thousands of miles between us when I was in Italy seven years ago did not change that. In fact, the distance and the time away seemed to strengthen our relationship and make us even closer. Normally when I was at home I would talk to my mom at least four or five times a week. When I was having problems of any sort, she was the first person I would call. Likewise, when she was feeling down it seemed as though I was also the first person she called. She truly was my best friend. In the time that I was away, though we did not talk often, and most of the time could only communicate through email, our relationship grew and I came to appreciate her even more. When I returned home I had to move back into the house for a little while till I could get some money together and get a place of my own. In that time that I stayed there we would talk even more and spent quite a bit of time discussing my travels. Unfortunately, as I have said before, in her life my mom never had the chance to travel overseas, and would therefore listen so intently to all the stories I had to tell about Italy, and she always told me how happy she was that I had had such a good time and had found a place that made me as happy as Ischia had. She always encouraged me to go back and always said that she would one day love to be able to see the place that was the source of so much happiness for me, and she wanted to meet the friends I had told her so much about. As I said in my very first entry, it was those very conversations with my mom that helped me make the decision to go on this trip and though she was never able to physically make a trip of her own, I find comfort in knowing that her spirit is with me and watches over me as I continue on this journey. It was for these reasons and so many more that I decided to have some of her ashes with me and that I decided that I would spread some of them on the anniversary of her death in one of my favorite places on the island. I woke on the morning of June Twelfth not sure exactly how to feel. I did not have the sadness that I did when her birthday had passed, but rather I was almost excited to be doing something to honor her life. And so, I was off, walking across town to the spot where my boat was to take my mom out to sea. The boat has a motor on it, but I decided to row anyway. The maiden voyage for the boat was on April 29th, my mom’s birthday, and when Gino and Marissa visited they agreed that naming it “Susan Jean” would be more than appropriate. To add just a bit of irony to that, due to the weather and other plans I had made with friends, I was not able to take the boat out again until June twelfth. So here I was, on the anniversary of my mother’s death, rowing the Susan Jean past the break wall for only the second time. After making it passed the break wall I rowed passed a couple of the larger hotels on the island and made my way to Vorula, a secluded bay with a private beach that can only be reached by boat. Just passed the beach I did not drop anchor, but pulled the oars in so I could just float along. It took me a minute to actually reach into my bag and pull out the ashes, but eventually I did. I had been telling myself for a while that this is what I wanted to do for her anniversary, but when the moment came it really hit me, and I found myself questioning if I was really ready to let go. Though I would not classify myself as a “religious” person I have lit candles for my mom in churches all over the world and have said a few prayers. Well, sitting out on the boat with her ashes in my hand, I said yet another prayer, spoke to her a bit, took a deep breath, and let go. At first I was a bit overwhelmed and thoughts of my time with her flooded my head, but as I looked out at the Mediterranean Sea and then back towards the island that I for the time being call home, I felt nothing but peace. My eyes were then drawn to the water, the clear-blue water that was somehow illuminated by my mom’s ashes. All I can say is that this moment felt very right. I sat there just drifting till the last bit of the ashes had disappeared and settled to the bottom, and I remained there until I felt that I had said all that I needed to say to her. And so, when the time was right, I put the oars back in the water and headed back to the port and walked back to the house. It was now 12:30 and I needed to get ready for a big lunch that I was invited to with Gianni and Pasquale.
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