‘To live in the hearts we leave behind is not to die’… A lovely inscription I saw on a gravestone today.
As was ‘Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it’.
My Mumbo would always tell us stories of her Gran. Her eyes would like up with a twinkle and of fondness, of how she was wonderful to cuddle and how she made you feel like you were her favourite. She would make Mumbo and her brother and sister sugar sandwiches and let them sleep with toffee apples under their pillows.
Her Gran was buried in Hull, alongside her sailor. A sailor who also pulled Queen Victoria’s gun carriage as the Royal Horse Artillery were unable to pull it along the slippery streets.
At the same grave site, over the years my Grandma’s ashes were scattered there as were my Mum’s Aunt and her dog, Judy.
It took us a while to find it in the 100’s and 1000’s of aging and new gravestones. We meandered through the dappled paths in the autumnal heatwave, peaceful as the only visitors there.
Mumbo was heavy. She was in a box the size of a shoebox. Dense, dull grey ashes, hers and the coffin. They could have been from the grate in our fireplace, with the exception of the certified piece of paper with them declaring them to be Mum.
There was not a breath of wind, so she slipped through my fingers and settled softly on the roses I had lain there. We spoke quietly of memories and laughed for a few moments.
And then we meandered back. Just my Dad and I. Just ambling and living in the moment.
Living in the moment, not really thinking about what had taken place until now. I still find it so strange as I look at her photo that she isn’t here, on this planet living, just ashes on a pink rose, energy on the wind.