Her ashes fell from the alabaster urn like pale silken powder into the jade colored river of Big Sur, CA. The eight of us stood silent in the shade of towering redwoods witnessing the final release of Jane Jackson’s mortal remains. Some of Jane clung to the riverbank mud just below the waterline while the rest of her moved sinuously downstream like a long serpent. Observant Crow cawed out in approval from a branch high above.

Only one of us had actually ever met Jane. The rest of us were here to support our friend who had spent the last 2 years in deep mourning and depression over the loss of her mother. On this day we had gathered for an intimate ceremony and it was a beautiful, poignant moment, both short and sweet. There were no tears. All the tears had long ago been shed. For the daughter it was the culmination of achieving peace in her own soul at such a deep loss. There were no regrets, no deep heaving sorrow this day. I felt like my purpose was to bear witness, to put some wind under the wings of a burden set free.

I could never really tell you of the deep dark valleys of my friends heart-wrenching pain. I once saw the jagged edges of it. I heard a red cheeked muffled cry long ago. But I cannot tell you of her journey through grief’s turbulent waters. What I do know is I saw my friend emerge out of the canyon this ruby-leafed autumn day, strong and confident in some unshakeable truth that lay anchored in the sparkly jade of her eyes. She seems to have shed this feeling of deep-alone that she has always carried with her like a bedraggled blanket.

What I saw this day by a rushing wide river, and what I heard this day by a fire that consumed white stallion words, told me that here is a woman who has come full term into her own, wearing brown mud boots and silver moon hair. Here is a woman who can pour her mother out like a fine glass of champagne and feel like, “ now all is well, all is well.”

The crows circled and sang that day above the red and gold maple trees on the hill above the river. And it felt as if Jane was hugging the very air we breathed. In one auspicious moment we felt a wave of peaceful bliss blanket us and the forest felt still and warm. I bore witness today to miracles small and vast like the many white pearls wrapped around Anya’s neck and I am richer for it.