That’s not quite true. Only my husband is scattered in Texas (well, there’s probably plenty of ashes scattered all over Texas, just no one that I know). And he wasn’t my ex. There’s a few exes I wouldn’t mind being scattered. But that’s kind of rude and probably illegal. Although, the scattering of Ash’s ashes could have been illegal, too. I’m not 100% sure.

If you haven’t guessed by now, the kids and I just took a trip. To Texas. To scatter part of their dad/my husband. We had to fly, obviously, because driving 20+ hours with children seems a good way for my own body to perish and need a whole knew scattering ceremony. Air travel is just as fun as ever. It’s been a while for my boys. Ash was still in whole body form the last time Colt flew which means he was only 4 years old. So some anxiety he had even before we arrived at security.

Now, I don’t know how many of you have ever traveled with human remains, so if you’re seasoned in this sport, please forgive my blunders. As fate would have it, my mom did a little research on the line (also known as the internet) and informed me that I would need a special kind of urn to carry my special ashy Ash a mere days before it was time to take off. Some kind of eco-friendly travel urn that was sure to get through even the mightiest airport security. So to the interweb I went, found a lovely bamboo eco friendly travel sized urn (a touch classier than the Ziplock bag I was planning on carrying the poor fella in – don’t think it was even Ziplock brand – more likely Food Lion), spent a large amount of money on overnight shipping and thought (naively) the hard part was over. It did not cross my mind that an odd shaped bamboo cylinder type thing with an odd little locking mechanism would catch any attention through the little x ray machine thingy. Oh, but catch attention it did. (Side note – I realize I could have packed him in my checked bag but had a really real concern that the little locking mechanism would fail and Ash would end up all over my clothes, and it’s hot enough in Texas without Ash sticking all over me).

My bag was pulled immediately from the x ray machine thingy as my children and I are escorted over to the TSA checking area. Colt is freaking out. Colt sings when he is freaking out. Colt can’t stand still when he is freaking out. He has a real meth head look to him. Big eyes, singing, frantically swaying. Jack is irritated with Colt’s freaking out. And I’m on the verge of tears. I know exactly why they’ve pulled my bag. I have an urn in it. That’s not normal. TSA pulls the urn out of my bag. Inquires as to what it is. I said those are my husband’s ashes. She gives me an odd look – possibly because I didn’t explain that we were taking said ashes to said husband’s hometown to scatter scatter and say goodbye some more. We’re standing there, methy Colt, irritable Jack and teary me. And we’re standing there for a while. So long, in fact, that the head TSA guy that sits at the tall desk and oversees all the fun comings and goings of airport security approaches us and quite abruptly asks what we’re doing, why we’re standing there. As you can imagine, this totally helps Colt and his twitchy, anxious singalong. I told TSA bossman I had an urn of my husband’s ashes in my bag and the lady over there took it and pointed in her general direction. At this point I am convinced that poor little ashy Ash is going to be dumped in a trash can at Norfolk International Airport and will most definitely haunt me for the rest of my days for being such a royal fuck up. Jack is looking at me asking every 30 seconds if I’m ok (I’m assuming I was getting a little methy twitch right along side Colt), Colt’s doing his anxiety dance and nobody is bringing my damn husband (well, part of him) back to us. They run him through the little x ray machine thingy a few times, and finally, after what seems like days, but was really probably only 15 minutes, they come back with the urn (and, presumably, Ash still in it. They set him down, and I go to unlock the little locky thing to which 2 women ask simultaneously what I’m doing, to which I reply opening it up so you can see his ashes to which they reply please no. Or something like that. I could dramatizing that in my head. They then break out their little litmus test thing to test for what I don’t know….drugs? Gunpowder? Bomb residue? Were my 2 kids and I looking pretty terroristy? Maybe so what with all our meth twitching (please make me stop saying meth twitching). So they wiped their sciencey stuff on all sides of the urn, found I wasn’t carrying any illegal substances and sent us on our less than merry way. It was not fun. And not something that any of us would like to repeat again. Unfortunately, we still have 2 more dumpy dump sites to go so if anybody’s got any tips on how to make that go more smoothly, I’m all ears.

The flight out was fine. We all calmed down, arrived in Fort Worth, collected our bags, took the tram to the rental car station only to find out our rental car company had no cars left. I’ll be honest, this was the only time on our trip I got a little angry. The man told me all the cars had been reserved to which I replied how funny I found that because I had reserved a car, months ago, so how in the world is the car I reserved not available? And I had a bit of an attitude when I said it. And I apologized. So maybe I’m forgiven. He tells us to sit tight, give him 10 minutes. I say no problem. He comes back, says my car is ready. Yay! We load up, head outside to the garage, and see the one lone Infinity QRSTUV3209 or some such shit. The very friendly contract checker tells us it’s ours and we take off. We get to the gate that lets you out of the garage, the man in the booth scans the little numbers on the side of the door and tells me sorry, you can’t take this car, it has mechanical issues. I just smile and say ok. There’s a line of cars formed behind me that he has to ask to move so that I can reverse my broken car back to the friendly contract checker fella. We get back to him. I tell him the man over there says this car is broken and I can’t have it. He says it’s not broken, it just came from service but to get our stuff out and wait. Now, I don’t know if y’all know this, but it’s hot as forty fucking hells in Texas, it’s even hotter is this rental car garage we are hanging out in. It’s after 8 pm central time. We have not had dinner. We are tired. We are hungover from our methy twitching anxiety. But we’re laughing. Staying positive. We had arrived in Texas after all. This is just a little hiccup. They bring around another car – a Nissan Armada. We’re moving our luggage. Contract man is still insisting the Infinity is fine and we should keep that one. We had already moved our luggage though and I was just ready to get the hell out of there. We drive back to the booth. Booth man scans the door, tells me this car is even worse than the last one, I can’t take it. More cars are behind me. He makes them move and I back up again back to my new bestie, the contract man. He laughs, I laugh, maybe we flirt a little, don’t judge me, it had been a long ass day. He says to get back in the Infinity, that it was a glitch in the computer program and it is fine. We move our luggage. Again. Drive to the booth. Again. Booth man scans the door, tells me the car is broken, I can’t have this car. I laugh. He apologizes profusely. I laugh some more. He moves traffic again. I back up to my bestie contract man again. We laugh again. He calls me pretty but also calls me a pain. Promises me there is nothing wrong with this car and he will personally escort me to the booth man and inform him that the computer is wrong and the car is fine. So he does. And they let me take the car. And we didn’t die in the car. But it drove like giant piece of shit. Constantly pulling to the right, the cruise control would just shut off whenever it felt like, the gas pedal was super touchy and the brakes not touchy enough. But, again, it got us everywhere we needed to go and we all survived.

Next, we arrive at our hotel. Also booked months in advance. Very nice man at the front desk tells me the room I have reserved (double queens, nothing special) has all sold out. I laugh. Tell him of course it has. Tell him of our car rental woes. He then asks if it would be ok if he upgraded us to the presidential suite, no upcharge. Tells me it only has one king bed but they could bring a roll away. I say yes, I guess that will be acceptable. Holy. Shit. It was amazing. Huge. We had a dining table for 10, a mini bar, a 75 inch television in the living room and a 55 inch in the bedroom, a bathtub for 4, an exquisite walk in shower, a second bathroom, views of Globe Life Field and Dallas Cowboy Jerry Land (probably totally what that stadium is called). It was incredible and well-deserved, I thought, after all the shit we had been through to get to that point. We ordered room service. Jack had an $83 steak, Colt a $65 steak and me with a meager $34 pile of lettuce. The boys had Dr. Pepper served in wine glasses and mounds of mashed potatoes and macaroni and cheese. It was completely and ridiculously over priced but also completely and ridiculously worth it. We stayed in our Presidential Suite for 2 nights, enjoyed the Rangers/Phillies game (ummmm did you know Globe Life Field is an air conditioned dome? Well, it is and it is just the best. I actually complained that I was cold a few times because I was dressed to be outside in the sweltering 106 degree edge of the sun heat). And I don’t mean to brag (yes I do) but Texas Ranger Marcus Semien (also one of Jack’s favorite players) threw a ball in our general direction. There were no less than 16 boys behind us with gloves on their hands. And Jack just jumped up and snatched that ball bare handed right in front of them. It was pretty awesome. And I’m totally not biased. And while sporty spice Colt absolutely hates sports, he had a great time at the game and his sometimes sweet brother gave him the ball he caught and a great time was had by all.

Next we headed to Salado where said scattering was taking place. Ash had specific instructions on where he wanted to be – in the creek that ran through his adorably quaint hometown. We had friends meet us there that we haven’t seen since before Ash passed away. And they were so kind in helping us navigate where to go. We went to this little restaurant right on the creek, ordered drinks and went down by the creek. It started out a bit awkward, truthfully. I mean, we haven’t seen our friends in years and haven’t spoken to them all that much, and let’s face it, I’m a painfully awkward person and I have passed that lovely trait down to both my children. They asked the boys of they wanted to say anything about their dad. Colt said not really. Jack said no then said something like he was my dad, he wasn’t very nice to me and he’s dead. Very touching. Super appropriate. Not at all awkward. So our friends took the wheel, gathered us all in a circle, said a prayer and then the boys grabbed the urn and did their little dumpy dump. Meanwhile, there are tubers just upstream of us that may or may not be covered in Ash’s ashes. We got a good laugh out of that and left and went for dinner.

The rest of the trip was great. We spent time with our friends (happy to report the awkwardness faded very quickly), we swam, we ate all the queso, we explored caverns, zoos, aquariums, we went bowling and shopping. I showed Jack where he was born and where we used to live when he was a newborn. It was very cathartic, very difficult at times but also very needed.

Our journey home was nearly as annoying as the one to Texas. Our flight got canceled and rebooked for a day later. We made the best of it, though and enjoyed another day in Austin. We had a connection in Charlotte that was delayed. We got on the plane, sat on the runway for a good bit before the pilot came on and announced we didn’t have enough fuel to get to Norfolk so we’d have to head back to the terminal. I mean, that seems like airplane flying 101 shit, make sure aircraft has gas, but what do I know? Colt got served a vodka soda by a very confused flight attendant but we all got a big laugh about it. We eventually made it to Norfolk where I had a panic attack because I was convinced I had lost my car keys in Texas. I didn’t. (Side note – I think I’ve lost my car keys every single time I fly anywhere. Every. Fucking. Time.)

We ultimately made it home and funnily enough, I wasn’t ready to be home. I actually dreaded coming back. I cried when we crossed the bridge into our bustling beach town. It makes sense, though. I just lost another piece of Ash (literally like thousands of pieces) and it never gets easier. I also knew I was coming home to lose even more. But that’s another story for another day.

Life is hard. I like to think I’m pretty good at laughing my way through it. As always, I encourage everyone to stay strong, be kind and honest, and lead with fucking love.