HUELLA VERDE
CUIDAR EL AMBIENTE. NO ES PERJUDICIAL PARA LA SALUD
CUIDAR EL AMBIENTE. NO ES PERJUDICIAL PARA LA SALUD
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Canyonlands’<br />
Needles district<br />
PHOTOGRAPHY BYTONDA/ISTOCK<br />
much, much longer. We let her go on July 24, 2015. She was only 60.<br />
I’d known right away that I wanted to do something private,<br />
something personal, to remember her. The two of us had lived<br />
alone together from when I was 7 to when I left for college at 19,<br />
sometimes acting more like roommates than mother and child—<br />
ordering delivery pizza on Friday evenings; staying up too late<br />
talking on school nights; watching the Olympics on TV and giggling<br />
about the male athletes’ physiques—and I wanted to honor<br />
that closeness. She and my stepfather had purchased burial plots<br />
“I I wanted<br />
someplace wild,<br />
something that<br />
couldn’t or wouldn’t<br />
be fenced off<br />
or paved over.<br />
”<br />
in a city I’d never lived in<br />
and rarely visited; I suspected<br />
her gravesite there<br />
wouldn’t mean much to me.<br />
I’d asked my stepdad if I<br />
could have a portion of her<br />
ashes to scatter myself, at<br />
a location of my choosing,<br />
and he’d agreed easily. After<br />
the burial, the funeral<br />
director handed me a small<br />
velvet drawstring bag and<br />
a letter from the funeral<br />
home, certifying that I had<br />
a right to carry these particular human remains around with me.<br />
The question, then, was where to scatter them. I thought about<br />
my home, in the Yukon Territory: There was a beautiful wild river<br />
that ran right through town, and I could visit it any time I wanted.<br />
But my mom had only been there twice, and it was a place where<br />
I had built a life apart from her—somehow that didn’t feel right<br />
to me. There was a man-made, murky canal that ran through the<br />
neighborhood where I’d grown up, back in Ottawa—but then, both<br />
of us had long since moved on from our lives there together.<br />
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