Near the end of mile 101, somewhere between Emporia and Wichita, Kansas, there is a hill right off of the highway that has a cross, probably made out of a tree, on the very top of it. This was the place that my dad, though not a super religious man, asked his family to spread his ashes when he died. On Father's Day of 1999 which was almost a month after his death, we drove to the hill, and parked on the shoulder. We had to climb up an embankment of an overpass and climb through a barbed wire fence (this hill is on someone's property, we were hoping that we wouldn't happen to get shot by a farmer while we were out there) and hike up this hill.

The view was absolutely beautiful. You could see for miles around you, all hills and grass and green. It was incredibly peaceful and serene.

We spread his ashes around the cross and they were carried away in the wind. My mom cried because it was so beautiful and told my sister and I that when she died, she wanted her ashes spread here too.

I've seen similar crosses in other places along highways, and every time I see one, especially this one, I smile in remembrance.

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