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My beloved Papa suffered through 9 months of multiple myeloma. My sister and I had arranged for cremation. The morning after his death, I arrived at my parents' home. Mom greeted me with, "what are we going to do with Papa's body?" She moaned and groaned about our decision. "I want a grave, I want to cry on his grave." A week later, our family (my sister and spouse, my spouse and our two sons and Mama" gathered at Asilomar Beach on the Monterey Peninsula. Papa's ashes were scattered over the ocean as the skies above shimmered with sun rays piercing through slivers of clouds. Mama threw roses into the crashing waves. On our walk back up to the road and our cars, Mama revealed, "Papa and I often ate our lunch while parked here. (They were instructors at the Monterey DLI.) Papa once told me he wanted his ashes scattered here." I burst into tears of overwhelming gratitude. Papa knew. He's still with me. Joe's ashes are in the local hills where he loved to mountain bike. Joe knew. He is still with me.

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