Love and Ashes

“You were a fire that burned away everything I knew, and I was born in the ashes.”William C. Hannan

It is February. There are hearts and flowers to deliver. And if you are Catholic, as I am, there are ashes traced on foreheads.

Love and ashes. What do they ask of us?

I think of fire. Of embers lifting, trying to escape the heat. When the flames die down, what remains is gray and still—the part that could not rise.

We have made many fires. Outside in backyards. Inside, in fireplaces and stoves. Sometimes just the two of us. Sometimes all of us. We gathered close and let the light warm our faces.

I love the warmth. But sometimes I step back. Too much heat. Too much noise. Peace feels cool and quiet. Still, I remember those fires with tenderness.

Ashes come after. After the light. After the closeness. After the burn.

They lie cold and finished. There is a sorrow in them.

These ashes have rested on my forehead many times. Each time, I feel their truth. I am dust. This will not last.

There is comfort in knowing this. I, too, will one day be still.

And love?

Love changes. It burns, it ends, it begins again. A new fire rises where the old one went out. Nothing is lost. It is simply complete.

From the ashes of my life, light returns. This time, I stay near the flame. I do not run.

Love and ashes meet for me this February. I lift my feet from the gray ground and walk toward the fire.

One day, it will fade. I hope it leaves a smile behind. Yours. Or mine.

In the end, memory is made of love and ashes.