Reunited in Heaven…

Last night our little group gathered Bronte style in the Lady Chapel of St. George’s.

It was cool and dim, the urns with the ashes were on the altar.


Behind the scenes hubs had removed the memorial stone revealing the prepared ground beneath.

Our priest led us in prayer as he commended our precious remains to their final resting place.

As we were turning to leave the chapel, hubs suggested my brother and I carry the urns.

We approached the altar and carefully took them in our hands and following the priest made a solemn procession through the main sanctuary and out into the garden where the place among the damp, tangled overgrowth awaited.

Beside me, my brother, in front of us, his sons, behind me, hubs.

We made a bedraggled circle with the priest and I handed my urn to him, he interred the contents and prayed over them making the sign of the cross.  He repeated the ritual with my brother’s urn and there they were, my parents’ ashes in one place, hugged by the earth, nudged by a rhododendron  bush and watched over by the magnificent stained glass windows of the eastern wall where the altar stands.


After the Lord’s prayer and a blessing we were dismissed in peace and silently retraced our steps through the grass and along the damp pathways into the church.

Hubs remained behind the scenes to re-set the stone.


Mass followed, a few more people attended than usual, there was a parish leadership meeting afterwards.

My parents were mentioned in the prayers as being,

“Laid to rest in our graveyard, reunited in heaven.”

At the consecration of the bread and wine into the body and blood of Christ the single bell was tolled three times.  My youngest nephew regarded the lady pulling the heavy rope with mouth agape in awe.

We all received the body of Christ, the youngest had just had his first holy communion so was thrilled to be able to participate.

Afterwards we visited the grave and admired the surrounding scenery.


We could have been deep in the countryside of a Bronte novel.


The size of our interment party, the intimacy of the chapel, the prayers outside as the ashes were poured, and the hard work of hubs behind the scenes, steeped the ceremony in antiquity.

Evening birdsong provided the music, heavy cloud cloaked the emotions, and a chill in the air pierced my heart.

We went to a restaurant for dinner, the Bronte spell broken.




My brother hugged me goodnight and said,

“Thanks for arranging this Sis.”

Today I felt out of sorts.  My last duty towards my parents complete.

Another chapter of my life about to begin.

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