So the scattering of ashes didn’t quite go to plan, as Sandra’s sons weren’t quite up for it yet. Too recent, too raw. Instead I’ve left the urn and all with them, so they can do it when they’re ready. In the meantime i’ve had my own private ceremony, scattering some of the ashes into Plymouth Sound, giving Sandra back to nature.
It’s a sort of closure though the mourning will continue.
Today we did the touristy thing, going around some of the places Sandra loved in Plymouth: the Elizabethan house and garden in the Barbican, the Aquarium, having a cream tea in one of the tearooms. Then I went and showed my parents around where she used to live, all around the not so touristy bits of Mannamead.
I took a shedload of pictures, but the barebones linux system on the minilaptop I’ve got with me can’t really do much with them, so I’ll put them up when I’m back home.
Tomorrow we’re going to scatter the ashes.
true
Ever since BBC4 broadcasted a night of Queen documentaries and music a few weeks ago this song has been playing through my head, for obvious reasons. It also made me want to listen to more Queen again; I’ve always liked the band, even when it was still a bit declasse to admit to this. So why not have a listen/look at their complete 1986 Wembley concert while I’m gone?
Tomorrow I will spent the whole day travelling to Plymouth together with my parents, to bring Sandra to her final resting place. She wanted her ashes to be scattered at one of her favourite places in the city, which her sons and me will do sometimes this weekend. It’s a strange feeling to be this close to letting her go, but it is the last thing I can do for her. Hopefully this will be a bit of (ugh) closure as well.
Practically speaking, because going by plane was not an option (expensive, much too much of a hassle, fscking airlines nickling and diming you to death), we’re going by train. First leg is from Amsterdam to Brussel, then onto London, mad dash on the Underground and then the train to Plymouth, which takes about as long as getting from Amsterdam to London.
The Dutch trains will be alright, unless the railways find yet another way to derail (pun not intended) traffic around Schiphol, the international train a doddle, but I’m dreading the souped up metro style cattle cars the British call trains. Most of my experiences with them have been dreadful: overcrowded, slow, far too many far too loud completely irrelevant tannoy messages, prone to endless delays, claustrophobic. Oh well, when in doubt, crank up the volume on the mp3 player and try to sleep.