The Story of the Urn

It was 10 months and 7 days since the best part of my soul had shattered and left this earth and it was the day before my first birthday without him.  I knew the gift was coming, long awaited and anticipated.  I thought I was ready to receive it.

It came in a big box at the end of the day.  I knew what was in there and I knew it would be beautiful because it was made with great love and care by an artist who's talent is evident in each detail he weaves into his work.  Yet I stared at that box, afraid to open it, knowing it held the final resting place of the love of my life.  The wait was finally over and yet it had come so soon.

I finally told myself that I was strong, I was brave and I could do this.  I tried to fool myself into believing it was just a birthday gift and that I should feel the excitement of all that the box must contain.  I said I wouldn't cry, that I would be happy.

So I opened the box.

It was packed with great care.  Filled to the brim with those crazy foam peanuts we all hate because they go everywhere and seem to find their way into the dog's mouth when you turn away for just a moment.  So I got a big bag and a plastic bowl and began to scoop them out, slowly.  I wanted to savor the unveiling of what I knew would be a masterpiece.  Then I unwrapped the tape and the bubblewrap, finally to reveal my husband's urn.

I set it so carefully on the counter and stared in awe.  How could something so heartbreakingly sad be so beautiful?  It took my breath away as I absorb the intricate detail, the mastery and talent so stunning and the great depth of love and hard work it took to create.

Then I read the letter that came with it.

I cried like I have never cried before.  I howled at the pain from the depths of the bottom of my soul.  I gave in to the loss that I carry with me each and every moment of every day.  I broke into a million pieces and have only begun to put myself back together.  The grief came like a tidal wave, consuming me, washing over me and letting me know how final death is. 

There is no turning back time.

I am sure you are wondering why did I have this kind of reaction to something so beautiful.  So I must start at the beginning of how the urn came to be, then you will understand.

Last Year

David Stanfill served his country for 22 years in the Air Force.  He loved his country and he lived his life with great honor to serve it.  He was the most honest man I have ever known.  He was kind and good.  Part of his career in the military was spent doing special assignment on the Honor Guard, where he represented his military for the many service men and women who had died, at their funerals and memorials.  He often told me how much those duties meant to him and he was humbled by the privilege he was given.

So last year about this time, I asked him what he wanted me to do for him.  Ironically Dave hated funerals, even more than weddings lol and he emphatically stated he did not want me to have a memorial for him.  I told him he deserved to be honored by his fellow comrades for his time in service and that it was his due.  He finally gave in and said it was ok for me to do this.

But I didn't know then, just how hard it was to say my final goodbye to him.  His last days were beyond anything I ever thought I could survive and I found that I had nothing left inside of me to give to anyone else.  

I understood that a memorial would be for all of us, that he was celebrating in heaven and he wouldn't even be attending per se'.  I knew I owed it to his memory, I owed it to his family, and I owed it to our friends.  To let all of them grieve and say goodbye. But I had nothing left to give anyone else, so I took the easy way out.  I convinced myself that it was ok because his final wish was not to have one.

Once the shock of it all wore off and I had his ashes back, I knew I needed to decide what to do with them.  He could never decide if he wanted them spread somewhere special or put in a crypt.  He always said I would know what to do with them and that would be perfect.  Of course I used to tell him that I was going to put them on the night stand beside the bed, so maybe he liked that idea so he could make sure I stayed out of trouble.

Ashes, or more bluntly his human remains, have never bothered me.  In fact it is often joked that I have a six pack of ashes from our animals that have passed away.  I still have some of my mom's ashes.  I worked for a funeral home many years ago and I guess I have always been more intrigued with them than fearful.  

But I wanted something very special to hold his ashes.  I looked at urns on line but nothing spoke to me.  I knew I wanted something that would represent all that he was.  And those of you who knew him, know that is near impossible to find.  Then one day I knew exactly what to do.

Frank Anson

The artist, Frank Anson and Dave had been friends for a very, very long time.  So long in fact that I don't really remember the exact story of how their friendship began other than it was within the military at Travis AFB, CA.  I was so fortunate to meet Frank and his wife Marilyn numerous times as they really are world travelers and often ended up in our part of the country and we were fortunate to meet up and spend time with them.  They became my friends too.  

I knew how much Dave admired Frank and respected his friendship that endured over all those years.  Frank is an amazing man.  Every year at christmas, he grows his white beard out and becomes Santa for all the children.  He is kind and funny, he is smart and talented.  He is a good man and an even better friend.  He is an artist with unbelievable talent and can make ordinary wood into beautiful works of art.

So I reached out to Frank and I asked him if he would do me the honor of creating an urn for Dave.  I told him my only requirement was that he follow his heart and memory of Dave.  I knew he wouldn't disappoint. 

I didn't know he would surpass anything I could ever imagine.  And this is what made me break down,   Dave's urn is more than wood.  It is magical.  To touch it and feel the smooth wood, cool to my touch, it comes to life in my hands.  Each piece tells it's own story and it is seamless, one unit.  It is the essence of Dave.  The ashes inside are of the man I love more than life, his heart and soul that were once and will forever be intertwined with mine.  Now the vessel that holds something so precious represent all that he was.  It is that of his honor, the loves of his life on earth, his eternal life, his heart and his soul. 

This is what Frank wrote to me in his letter, explaining how he came to create this beautiful urn.

Dear Jackie,

At long last your urn is done.  I hope you like it.

I had various forms of symbolism in mind as I was designing it.  Since Dave's professional life had so much to do with aviation, several motifs came to mind.  One was the "stairway to Heaven" from ground level in walnut from the base up the sides of the vessel.  Another way to gain altitude would be in a hot air balloon, of which the shape of the vessel is reminiscent.  The yellow disk and radiating lines and circles in the top and upper sides represents the sun and rays warming the earth.  I suppose the feature ring with airplanes is obvious.

The wood species I used were yellow-heart, hard maple and Claro-walnut.  I bought the yellow and hard maple as boards so I don't know their history but the Claro-walnut has a connection with Dave, you and me that I think is special.  The tees  it comes from grew in Dixon, California, as a border between two tomato fields beside I-80, within sight of Cattlemen's restaurant.  I am sure we all drove by those trees many times as they were growing.  Some time in 1979 or 1980, the farmer who owned the fields decided he wanted more room for tomatoes so he cut down the trees, sold the logs, pushed the stumps out of the ground with a bulldozer and was planning to burn them.  A friend of a friend of mine noticed the stumps and asked if we could have them.  The farmer was happy to see us haul them off to the work yard of yet another friend who had a portable sawmill.  I eventually collected several nice planks as my share of the harvest and have been hauling them around the country ever since, using some from time to time.  This seemed like the perfect time to use some more.

Guessing, I would say I probably spent 100 hour plus on the urn - it was a true labor of love.  Seldom, I think, does a woodturner do something emotional but this was an exception.

Rest in Peace, Dave, my friend.  I hope you like the urn too.

Our love to you,
Frank and Marilyn

I am honored, humbled and deeply thankful that God gave me such a gift of friendship in Frank and Marilyn, he shared his talent to give me something I will forever cherish.  I know Dave is smiling.

*You can find Frank Anson on my Facebook, I am so lucky to follow their travels and his great wood working through his page.  And I hold his friendship close in my heart.