Ashes to ashes.....

I sat in the pub garden where we had my dad's funeral lunch last year..a similar hot, sunny day. I sipped orange juice and waited for my brother and sister-in-law to arrive. Wanted this day to be over. A day of Closure. Time to move on. I feel quiet and reflective. My brother arrives, laughing, saying he had rung the funeral directors to tell them he would pick up my dad's ashes and take them to the crem. 'They said they had lost him! Couldn't find him!' my brother continues, 'You have to laugh, don't you?' I wish I could share his humour at this moment. A moment after I had driven to their house, on the way to the pub, and thought fleetingly, that they might be there, with the kettle on, and we would be pleased to see each other, and my mum and I would talk and laugh like we always did..instead there is a new front door and a garage where the car port was, and it's someone else's house. I want to laugh and share in the joke about my dad going walk about, but I just can't.

'Did they find him?' I ask, as we order sandwiches. 'Yes, I've got him in a carrier bag in the car!' my brother is jolly and laughing and sharing with his wife, it is his way of dealing with this and I respect it totally. It is one way of dealing with it..I wish I could..I try a bit.

We talk about the children and fill the time, then we have to drive to the crem to keep our appointment. We sit in the sun waiting for the man to come and do his bit. My brother takes out the carrier bag and shows me the purple plastic urn with my dad's name on. He keeps talking to it. 'Ok, dad, you alright? nearly have you there, back with mum, not long now...' It is totally bizarre, talking to a jar. He is not there.

As we prepare to follow the man t the small hole prepared in Lawn E, my sister-in-law gets two small bunches of flowers out of the car. I am gutted, I meant to but flowers on the way this morning, but competely forgot. My thoughts have been elsewhere. What kind of daughter am I? I have come empty handed. How could I forget?

There is a small hole on the edge of the lawn, nowhere near the tree where we buried mum's ashes. I suspect my brother forgot to tell them about that. The man, who is a gardener, stands next to the hole and asks us if we want to say anything. 'Some people read poems and all sorts.' We have nothing. We haven't talked about it. It's not his funeral, I don't know what you are supposed to do. We are not in tune, my brother being chirpy and matter-of-fact, chatting to the gardener, chatting to the carrier bag, while I am still and silent.

We ask him to do it. He tips the urn of ashes in to the hole. We stare in at the small heap of white ash. My brother leans over and talks to it. 'There you are, dad, you're ok now, mum's just over there by the tree.' He is pointing. I stand with tears falling down my face, sobs welling up, I cannot talk to a pile of ash in the ground, this is not my dad. I want my dad here. My sister-in-law gives me one of the bunches of flowers and I try to hand them back, saying, no, you bought them..but she makes me have them for my mum.

My brother walks to the tree and talks t the bit of lawn where we put my mum's ashes. 'Ok mum, dad's over there, you can call him, he'll probably pretend not to hear like he always did.' I smile through my tears, that's true. I go over and silently tell my mum that she has a nice place under the shade of the tree. We put the flowers in a little vase built into the little wall round the lawn, where we are going to have small plaque.

'In loving memory of Peter & Betty Bacon, 1925-2005.'

I think I would like to sit on the bench in the sun and think awhile, but no, my brother is thanking the man, and we are off, time to go. I am crying and my brother briefly puts his arm round my shoulders, and says, 'Come on, they are ok, together now.' I nod. Inside my head comes the constant question..where are they> Where are they now, if anywhere? Or are they just the ash, buried in a lawn. I hoped this day would bring closure, but there is still a way to go.

We drive to my aunt's, my mum's younger sister. The other two go in, smiling and chatting, my aunt hugs them. Then she turns and hugs me, holds me tight, and says, 'Oh, Sal, I miss them so much,' and she cries on my shoulder and I cry on hers. She holds me tight, and I think, thank you, thank you for understanding.

Goodbye. Always in my thoughts. I love you.>