I made this spalted ambrosia maple urn as the final resting space for John Rohan who left this life on Tuesday, December 28th, 2021.

John was a gardener and a reader. He was a loving life partner to Ruth, a father to Dan and Julia, a grandfather to many, a beloved teacher and a lover of life with an insatiable appetite for what it had to teach him.

He was a heart centered, deep thinking man who always found it easy to value life regardless of the circumstance. John soaked up this world’s greatest joys with ease. He brought a meditative approach to his actions and intentionality to his relationships. He effortlessly supported his student’s and children’s dreams and he understood the hard labor that goes into lifting an idea off the ground. 

A friend since 2013, John’s daughter, Julia asked me to make her an urn for her father - “It’s been 19 months since John’s passing and my portion of his remains are finally finding their home. This is all “on pace” with how life has felt since he last told me he loved me. Life has certainly slowed down, grown softer, and moved forward with self-compassion’s help.”

Its wood is from of Cincinnati, Ohio, it was harvested by my firefighter friend, Matt and it was chosen because of its highly spalted characteristics. The rich black colors and lines are called spalting and it can occur in every variety of tree- deciduous, evergreen, angiosperms, and gymnosperms. The spalted lines and colors are created by competing fungal colonies and it is comprised of melanin the same substance found in our skin. The lines are created when opposing colonies compete for territory- they are battle lines. Hardwoods or softwoods, the tallest tree can be infected by a beetle or experience an injury that breaches its system and creates disease. That disease will cause weight loss and strength loss and will untimely require the tree to be taken down and to be removed.

Tree communities are quite remarkable though, the ones that are left to stand can continue to honor their most beloved fallen family members by providing its root system with nutrients and care for years after it has fallen. Surely, an intention to keep them alive and it’s something we do through memory, story telling and ritual.

Wood from trees that experience adversity through disease create rich character, colors and lines and is often sought after by many woodworkers. There is a likeness between our species and theirs. We share a similar story. This connective narrative helps me to make sense of how we experience disease and loss. I see it as a reminder that death is as much a part of life as is living and while being witness to death can be an excruciating experience of loss, one where we can find ourselves alone in its process even in the comfort of community, it can simultaneously be one of beauty and grace. An opportunity to settle on the things of substance in this life rather than its distractions.

In the end, John lost his life to cancer- “I still appreciate the inner peace he seemed to carry on most days and the forgiveness he gave to the harder ones. I miss him. I tell him this daily, sometimes multiple times a day. And what feels like his responses, have helped me find greater meaning in my life. My grief journey gave me a stronger sense of belonging and purpose, gifts I waited to discover for too long.”

Listening to the classical music station WFMT, enjoying a good cup of coffee or a beautiful breeze while sitting on the front porch watching the trees are now the times that Julia is closest to John and when she misses him the most.

I hope this urn honors you, John, your life and your spirit that easily celebrated the beauty in the details and admired the people in your life as they are.

Thank you for your trust Julia. It’s a gift to help pay tribute to your dad and to be a part of your process.