She understood me—knew that the wilds of nature, the open air, and the earth’s silence were the only things that could touch the grief inside me. Two months after she was gone, with nothing but a map and her ashes, I embarked on a journey that would stretch across 12 weeks and 19,000 miles. I traveled alone, but she was always there—her urn beside me in the passenger seat, her spirit still guiding me through the quiet stretches of road.
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