The month is August and one should be forgiven for expecting plenty of opportunities to bask in the rays of potentially long summer days. But not this year! At least not in England.
We left this morning for the seaside in the pouring rain. Luckily our rubber rings, deck chairs and baguettes were hidden in the back pack Hubsie has adopted as a permanent accessory on his back.
I was wearing jeans and could feel water gradually osmosing its way up my leg. I stopped in a shop doorway and rolled up my jeans to high waters.
There was no rain when we arrived beside the sea but the sun never came out. We witnessed lots of eager (or were they just desperate?), holiday makers trying to make the most of the last days of summer. The beach was busy, the water had a sprinkling of small dinghies and wind surfers on it and crowds of children in it.
Our main reason for heading to Broadstairs today was to find a suitable resting place for my parents. Well, for their ashes. They are suitably resting with God in heaven but we on earth want a visual reminder, commonly called a “memorial” by which to honour and remember them.
We’ve been given a few choices which I’ve taken and mulled over, some have stuck, some have not.
Sacred ground at their church with a carved stone was good until I viewed the site and noted its unkempt columbarium plots.
The idea of a bench placed along the promenade or in a park where they walked daily appealed to me, but the cost was prohibitive.
A tree planted on top of their ashes was a very affordable option but today as we walked the bus-less path to King George VI’s park where their dog and grandchildren romped and ate ice creams we saw a lot of newly planted trees but no indication as to their dedication. Nothing marked the fact that this particlular tree was for this particular person. This ended up bothering me.
So what was it that I wanted?
As we re-traced our steps I began to formulate more of an idea about my vision for their final resting place…on earth.
Sacred ground for their ashes…is not a must.
An outward sign that my parents once lived and are remembered…is.
The ashes. I really am okay with scattering them on their favourite beach knowing that the tide will come in and take them safely out to sea.
The Memorial. I am going to go back to the priest of the unkempt sacred ground to ask about a memorial under a stained glass window, or on a pew. Something we and my children, and theirs, can come and touch, look at and remember.
For though our beloved dead are in our hearts forever and their souls are with God in eternity, it’s not enough. We need the tangibility of a something set in metal or stone,
“Kathleen and Leonard Baggarley, in loving memory…”
Remind me, when I finally settle down again, to write out what I want done with my remains and how I want to be remembered. This has been a difficult walk.
Well hello there! My name is Vivienne McNeny.
I am an empty nester exploring life as a Boomer…you could say I'm happily Boomering along!
As a homeschooling Mum I have finally quit the job of role model and mentor to my four children. I do what I want to do, eat when I feel like it, enjoy life with my blue eyed cowboy and clean my house once a month or so whether it needs it or not!
In true English form I write about the emergence of my true identity now that I can no longer hide behind my children as their Mum.
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