Memorial Ride

My son was a shithead at times. I can admit it. I knew him well. Fuck. I made him. I have known his dad since I was 18. I don’t like to admit that that has been over 22 years now because it makes me sound old. So shut it. I know that there was sometimes drama in his friend group. But I also know that they always came out of the drama because that’s what friends do.

And after Bryce’s accident, his best friend and one of the “dads” of the group (funny to me that he is the dad when even he is well over 10 years younger than I am) both approached me about planning a memorial ride for him. Their group has a tradition of planning a ride for the fallen. They plan a point A chosen by the family and ride to a lake NW of the metro where they bury some of the fallen’s ashes and spend time there in their honor.

We chose to start at the site of the accident.

Everyone started out for an hour+ drive to the lake led by me in a family car with his other mom, his girlfriend, and my 12-year-old with me. Bryce’s dad rented a bike. So many friends showed up to ride with us. It was such an amazing experience of love for him.

Once we arrived, the riders all scattered around the parking lot to do wheelies and burnouts in honor of Bryce. It was amazing to see. I made sure to do my part and do a burnout in honor of my baby boy.

As part of the experience, everyone spends time at the lake to reflect once the ashes are buried. We chose to allow the 3 parents, the siblings, and Bryce’s girlfriend and best friend some ashes to scatter if they so chose to do so.

Sometimes the hard things can also be a little cathartic. Scattering part of my son’s ashes definitely falls into that category. It isn’t all of them of course. His dad and I split most of them. “Split him in half” as his little brother said. But watching the ashes of my baby boy drift off in the slow waves of a peaceful Arizona lake was horrible. But yet cathartic.

And everytime I feel like I have it the worst of the pain, something proves me wrong.