A Tribute to Dustin

Ash is to ash, as Dust is to Dust....

It is Sunday, May 23rd, 1999, and it's finally time. Cathy, my oldest daughter, and I boarded the 9:30 a.m. ferry to Vashon Island. What a gorgeous day we picked for the occasion; not a cloud could be seen.

Puget Sound, in the northwestern corner of Washington State, is a massive delta nestled between two mountain ranges: the rugged Olympics to the West, and the jagged Cascades to the East. As we crossed the Sound to the island, our famous Mt. Rainier slipped out from behind the neighboring hills and loomed in all her majesty in the distance. Then, as we docked and drove off the ferry, we turned and glanced North, and there was Mt. Baker, up near the Canadian border, also a part of the Cascade chain, spreading tall and stately in her pure white winter coat.

We started down the east side of the island, carefully watching for the particular spot that was to be Dustin's final resting place. As we rounded a curve, I suddenly got a strange feeling we were not alone in the car, and as I was explaining to Cathy what I was feeling, she suddenly pulled her van over to the left and parked in this beautiful little pullout that overlooked the Sound, and Mt. Rainier glowed in the morning sun to the sourtheast of us. She said, "This is it...." What luck! We didn't have to search the entire island.

Not a car or person was around, as we prepared our little ceramony. She had brought Dustin's black cowboy hat, placed it on the rock that had an inscription on it, stating Vashon Island was discovered in 1792 by Capt. George Vancouver, and he named it after his friend, Capt. James Vashon. Her ashes were spread and we said both our oral and silent prayers and wished her a peaceful journey to her "life on the other side". We emptied our cameras taking pictures of this peaceful, quiet setting.

We took our time, and after a while, we drove further south until a small bridge spanning a deep crevace where a narrow thread of sea water separated two islands, took us onto Maury Island, where Dustin had lived for a while in 1984. She and her husband lived on their boat in Quartermaster Harbor, where their son, Burton, named after the town of Burton on Vashon Island, was born. We began looking for the location of the last home where they had lived, but there were so many side roads, it was nearly impossible. When we reached the southern tip of the island, we could see the Port of Tacoma, the Tacoma Dome, Federal Way to our left....so beautiful...I picked up three driftwood sticks of different sizes to take home and remind me of the three lost loved ones in my life: Dustin, her late husband, Bobby, and Burton, wherever he may be...We lost all track of him after Bobby passed away....

We started back toward the ferry landing, and as she drove, Cathy kept feeling that Dust was taking us on one last spiritual tour of her favorite island, because the van seemed to take this road, then that road, around and around we went, till we were back again at square one, like Dust was riding with us, leading the way. The silence was deafening, and we sensed Dust's beckoning presence with each bend in the road.

Each of us wore clothes we had bought in Las Vegas, where Dust had lived for years; clothes we had worn to visit her in the hospital there, before we flew her home to Seattle to live out her last days....days toward her death that she faced so bravely. We wore some of her rings, and placed her cowboy hat on the dashboard, and it seemed to guide us along our way...

Dustin is pictured here with Lady, Cathy's wonderful wolf hybrid-long haired German Shepherd mix....they are both in Heaven now, romping together in the fields and along this river bank....

....and through my tears and my pain, I am reminded that life must go on....