Ash Wednesday My mother, who died in 2015, has been turned to ash. The remains of her cremation sit in a box on a shelf in my room. The ashes aren’t her, nor do they symbolize some essence of her nature. Still, I’m in no hurry to spread them across the scattering ground at the cemetery where she bought a place to rest. One day I will do so, when I no longer need her quiet reminder that I am destined to end up as ash myself. Whether we are talking about the dust out of which the Hebrew God formed us or the carbon created in the belly of…