The Last Chapter
Is life an illusion?
“We are such stuff as dreams are made on“ Shakespeare
My brothers, sister, and I took a fishing boat about two miles off the shore of Cayucos, California—a beautiful, quaint little beach village in central California and my Mom’s favorite place in the world. She wanted her ashes spread in the ocean so she could look at Cayucos for eternity.
So we stopped the boat, took her ashes out, and each of us began sprinkling them into the seawater. The most amazing thing happened. Her ashes contained the essence of her life force, and their bio-effervescence glowed bright green as they floated through the water away from the boat. It was beautiful. ✨💚✨
Thank you The Starfire Codes 💫 whose meme post inspired me to write about the profound experience I shared with my brothers and sister while scattering my mother ashes at sea.
In Shakespeare’s play The Tempest, the main character, Prospero, is a magician who uses his magical abilities to craft visual and auditory illusions to maneuver his enemies, ultimately exposing their hypocrisy and showing their real identities. His mastery of magic grants him extraordinary control, so he appears to foresee events and even predict their outcome like he had a crystal ball. At one point, Prospero boldly suggests that life itself is merely an illusion, fleeting and ephemeral, as he reflects, "We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep." suggesting that life is just an illusion itself that vanishes with death. Shakespeare confronts mortality through his play The Tempest, urging his audience to think deeply about their actions, relationships, and the legacy they leave behind. That’s true regardless of whether you believe this is your only time on life’s stage or if you will move on through the next gate to a more enlightened life. Prospero didn’t seem to believe in an afterlife, but I think we transcend to another realm after shedding our people suits. We are experiencing just one part of a much lengthier, unimaginable journey. It feels like an illusion, a dream sometimes, but that's the magic of life. When I think about the number of loved ones I've lost over the years, I get lonely and miss them so much, but I understand and tell myself I’ll see them again on my next voyage.
That is what was on my mind when I said my final farewell to my mother almost 23 years ago. My mother, Emeline Cecelia Klundt Froeschle Brown, passed away in late August of 2002 after battling cancer without the use of medical protocols like chemotherapy. As a nurse, she often commented about the disastrous results of chemotreatment, so she opted out and allowed nature to take its course. She kept her cancer diagnosis secret from us, and her only confidant was her longtime housekeeper, Maria, who began driving her around town for errands. I found out about her health condition when Maria called, informing me she had fainted at the bank and was hospitalized. Of course, I drove the two hours to be with her, and that night, her doctor said the most beautiful words to her, delivered with much compassion, empathy, and faith in God.
He walked in with a big smile, with much poise and command, exuding confidence as he happily greeted us both; I felt his powerful, empathetic vibration like an angel visiting in the flesh. He did a few things to exhibit his love, like adjusting my Mom’s pillow and asking what he could do to make her more comfortable. He poured her some juice and helped her drink it before sitting at the foot of her bed. Then he began by telling her she was living the very final page in the last chapter of her life, and there were only a few sentences left before the end. It was heartbreaking to hear, but I remember my Mom shaking her head in complete agreement. He then encouraged my Mom to embrace the beauty of life's final moments and to see the last chapter not merely as an ending but as a celebration of a richly lived story as she makes her way to the next reality. He told her how every experience (including all the challenges and failures), connection, and lesson learned in her life contributed to her legacy that transcends time and would define her future journey—reassuring words that her essence would continue to vibrate while her life would conclude. The moment I heard that, my broken heart healed, and tears began down my cheek as I made an excuse to leave the room before I burst into tears of every sentiment. I wasn’t sure what I felt, but I knew it was all wrapped in hope and promise. It was an eternal feeling. I sensed the beyond and the past going on for millenniums, and it all felt like a one-time frame.
My Mom passed away a few weeks later in the best comfort, and that made me feel so good she had the best care. Life feels like it stops when you lose a loved one. The grieving process began, and I often reflected on my mother’s doctor’s words during that process, which nourished me and made me whole again. I carried them with me when my sister passed away a few years later, followed by my brother. I was significantly affected by my brother’s death because we were so close, and the cause of his death was suicide. When I contemplate the words of my mother's doctor, I feel a sense of peace about my brother. I see him, my Mom, Dad, Sis, and another brother as beautiful butterflies who transcended into the next realm, where someday I will be there too, joining them and all our loved ones in a celestial celebration.
What was left of my mother was a beautiful vase of ashes and her wish to have them spread in the ocean, a few miles off the shore of her favorite ocean village of Cayucos, California, a quaint little place that seems like the end of the road. But further north, a few miles is San Simeon, an even smaller place made popular only because Hearst Castle sits atop a hill overlooking the sea. Growing up, we lived on the coast, and when friends or relatives visited, we always took them to Hearst Castle. As kids, we were tired of those trips, and it was an adult outing, with not much for kids available. So regardless of the season, on our return trip home, we’d always stop at Cayucos for fish and chips, and while the adults huddled together in coats and scarfs on cold days in January, we’d be in the ocean swimming like it wasn’t winter. After we’d, I’d be freezing, and my brothers and I seemed warm in the car. It was a very refreshing feeling to experience the contrast in temperatures and textures. You could feel freedom playing in the cold, fun ocean while listening to seagulls, the scent of fresh seawater, and the rhythm of the ocean waves. But then you finally get cold and seek refuge in the cacoon of the car. Often, my grandfather would drive and have one of those old Plymouths from the 40s with a big sideboard, and the back seating area was as big as a living room. We could all change into warm clothes on the floorboard with two and sometimes three adults seated in the back. My grandfather’s car also had a unique smell which I can’t describe. Pleasant, warm, and inviting. When I was back home, I would sleep like a baby after those day trips. I’d dream about the fun until the next trip when I’d complain, “Hearst Castle, again”? But then came the promise we’d stop in Cayucos. We’d clap and jump up and down, excitement replacing our disappointment.
Cayucos holds many family memories, and when I moved back to the coast in 2000, I was excited, anticipating spending time there with my Mom as an adult. One day, over a plate of fish and chips enjoying the ocean breeze, she confided with me her desire to have her ashes spread in the ocean in Cayucos so she could look after the picturesque ocean village with the coastal foothills as a backdrop shining green in the springtime reminding me of Ireland. I thought what a beautiful place to be put to rest. And she would take that journey alone without my father because we had sprinkled his ashes above the tree line in the Sierra Nevadas. One lives in the ocean and rests in the mountains near Mt. Whitney, the highest peak in the continental United States. Scattering her ashes in the sea and my Dad’s in the highest mountains created a spiritual connection between two vastly different realms of nature—water and beautifully mirrored the duality of life by honoring them in places that symbolized the expansiveness of their spirits. The vast and ever-changing ocean is a metaphor for my mother’s emotional depths and the fluidity of her nurturing essence—the ebb and flow of life.
On the other hand, the mountains symbolize my Dad’s strength, stability, and grounding as a father. He is now reaching toward the sky, signifying aspirations, achievements, and his guidance as a father. It's comforting to know as I navigate life’s water —ever-changing like my mother’s ocean—I can also find steadfast strength from the essence of my father watching over me. My mother lies about 2 hours west, and my Dad lies the same distance to the east as a crow flies. Its a perfect place for me and Randy. Peace on earth, you can't often find.
Little did I know that the time I spent dining on fish and chips would be my last time to Cayucos with my mother. She was 79 when she said goodbye less than a year later, and on my next trip to Cayucos, I carried her in a vase. It was a fabulous October day on the coast with typical mystical fog enveloping the foothills and mi gluing with rays of sunshine cascading down, illuminating the coastal town with a golden glow. I felt hope, renewal, and promise as we went to the fishing boat for the two-mile journey to the sea. As we began our journey through the ocean’s vastness, I watched Cayucos disappear in the shrouded mist, and as we passed the pier, I saw the sea lions frolicking happily with fishermen. Knowing my mother would soon be swimming alongside these lovely sea creatures, and many more that enriched the coast was a delight. I imagined her as a mermaid. Whales are also plentiful, and as we sailed further from the beach, a humpback whale glided gracefully through the waters, paying its respect, followed later by a pod of beautiful dolphins swimming in the wake. It’s as though they were inviting me to find joy within my grief, and I was reminded that despite the sorrow of loss, there is always beauty and light waiting to emerge.
When we reached our destination, our dolphin friends swam on, leaving us to gently scatter her ashes into the embrace of the deep waters. It was a beautiful ceremony, but mostly, it was a magical one I wish Prospero had witnessed. It might have changed his mind about the afterlife. My older brother Keith, who was mentally disabled and very close to my mother, who nurtured him through all his difficulties and challenges, was first to feel her ashes as he cast her into the welcoming water. Then the most mystical moment happened — when she intermingled with the sea, she glowed green with bioluminescence; it was as though her spirit transformed into tiny fairies, illuminating the depths of the sea and guiding the way to what lay beyond. The ocean became a sacred vessel, carrying her essence into the depths of life itself. One by one, we scattered her ashes, watching her surrender and her spirit merge with the heartbeat of the earth and confirmation she entered the next gate. In that brilliant display, I felt the presence of her life still vibrant, a reminder that while her physical form had departed, her nature remained woven with the universe, indicating that life is not merely a series of beginnings and endings but rather an ongoing journey where transitions lead to new realms of existence. Just as the bioluminescent organisms light up the dark waters, so too does her spirit shine, and that thought offered me great warmth and comfort.
It wasn't easy to return to the shore, but time was up, and the quiet boat started its engine. As we passed the pier, we sailed home with the waves lapping at the boat's sides. The sea lions were basking on the rocks, greeting us with their playful antics and communal nature as we passed, which caused me to reflect on the warmth of family and cherished connections. They reminded me that, just as they are part of a larger community, so too are we, and the thought of my mother’s legacy will always be a part of me —flowing with the tides, rising with the sun, and dancing with the very creatures of the sea.
This fantastic magical experience made me realize that life is a continuum, where death is not an ending but a transformation. My mother, surrounded by the beauty of nature and the presence of the remarkable sea beings, allowed me to feel peace and gratitude. In this sacred space, her spirit thrives in the tempo of the ocean, guiding me through the tides of life as my father watches over me from his guardian’s perch high above the clouds and trees.
Charlotte thank you for sharing your experience with us. I cried in empathy and compassion for you and me.
My mother passed suddenly just six months after yours. When I was in the depths of my despair my six year old daughter she said this to me… Mommy are you crying because Oma died? Yes I said. She replied Well you know how you have always been sad about Oma living so far away? (6 hr drive), yes, I replied and my beautiful little daughter said, Now she’s with us always.
🥹my world shifted once again
Many blessings to you
Oh, this is so beautiful, full of grace, compassion, gratitude and love. Thank you for sharing your mother’s magic 🤩🙏💜