Thoughts on that final destination

I’m wondering where to go on my last trip. I haven’t decided to stop traveling. But in drawing up my will (which, I’m told, everyone ought to do), my lawyer asked me where I wanted my ashes scattered.

I pondered the question without morbidity, partly because death isn’t staring me in the face and partly because it’s a fascinating subject for someone who loves to travel. I made a list of places that have moved me deeply, among them, Rome, the Grand Canyon and Le Mont-St.-Michel, off the coast of Normandy in France. How could I ever choose among them?

My lawyer says it’s common for people making wills to request that their ashes be divided, with half scattered or interred in a place that can be visited by friends and family members and the rest dispersed in some beloved faraway spot.

Sometimes, though, the decision of where to scatter a deceased’s ashes is left to the survivors. Jack Springer, executive director of the Chicago-based Cremation Assn. of North America, told me about a family who solved the problem of what to do with the ashes of an inveterate traveler. They put the cremains in small film canisters, then went around the world, scattering the contents at such tourist sites as the Taj Mahal.

That sounded like a perfect solution. But the more I considered the question, the more I realized that those who choose to be cremated need to think seriously about where they want their ashes to go and what their directives will mean to those left to carry them out.

About a quarter of the people who die in the U.S. are cremated, a decision affected by such factors as race, religion and where the deceased lived. For example, the cremation rate in Arizona is three times higher than in traditional Boston, says Bob Biggins, a spokesman for the National Funeral Directors Assn., which is based in Brookfield, Wis.

Since the early part of the 20th century, the number of people cremated in the U.S. has increased dramatically and is expected to exceed 40% of deaths by 2025. Its growing acceptance has been driven by the burgeoning prices of traditional burials, convenience and the feeling that cremation is kinder to the environment, Biggins says.

But simply deciding on cremation isn’t the end of the matter, because a final resting place for the remains must be determined. These include interment in a cemetery plot or columbarium, the option my parents chose. Their ashes rest in a columbarium niche at Arlington National Cemetery in Virginia, shaded by a small dogwood, with a bench nearby where I sit and think about them whenever I visit the area.

“Some people find it very comforting and important to have a place to go,” says Alan Solomon, a Torrance psychologist. “But many never visit grave sites. In a metaphorical sense, they go to an internal place, with the help of photos and memories.”

There’s a picture of Le Mont-St.-Michel on the wall by my desk. If I chose to have my ashes scattered at the island monastery, people could remember me by that, I fancy. I’m sure my brother, the executor of my will, wouldn’t mind carrying out such a directive. He loves France and would get a free trip, because the cost of ash disposition is generally assumed by the estate of the deceased, my lawyer says.

Springer, of the cremation association, took his family to Acapulco, Mexico, several years ago to scatter some of his father’s ashes into the bay where his dad loved to fish. The boat ride out to sea was more an opportunity to celebrate his life than a time for grieving, Springer recalls. After the ashes were dispersed, a pod of dolphins swam by, giving the occasion a deeply moving coda.

In his practice, psychologist Solomon has often treated patients faced with the task of going somewhere to scatter the ashes of a loved one. “When travel is required, the obligation can be hard to fulfill,” Solomon says. “Many people feel lost and uncertain, but afterward almost uniformly report that it was a powerful experience.”

To make it as positive as possible, Solomon suggests survivors try not to feel pressured to carry out ash-scattering directives. Grief is a many-staged process, sometimes involving guilt and anger. When these pass, taking a trip to disperse remains can underscore the meaning and purpose of the lost one’s life.

There are practicalities, of course. In California, ash-scattering is prohibited in lakes and streams. Written consent from the owner is needed for scattering on private property, and permits from the state are required for dispersal on public land.

Rules governing ash dispersal vary from national park to national park. It is allowed by permit in Yosemite, Death Valley and the Grand Canyon, though restrictions apply, such as avoiding popular gathering places. Kirstin Heins, coordinator for special use permits at Grand Canyon National Park, says that people who have never been to the canyon ask to have their ashes scattered there, which, she says, speaks to its power as a symbol.

Those who embark by plane on ash-scattering trips face heightened security regulations at airports. They must travel with the death certificate and cremation permit of the deceased, Springer says. If they decide to keep the remains with them on board, they should be prepared to have the container examined at security checkpoints.

I wouldn’t want that to worry my brother on his way to Le Mont-St.-Michel with my remains. Once he got there, I would want him to walk the medieval ramparts, look over the wide, flat bay and think of me, then have a frothy omelet at La Mere Poulard, as I did on my last visit, washed down with Champagne.