Had a lovely family lunch today at the Toby Carvery in Ewell. I hadn't been to a Toby in years; I'd forgotten how nice the food is, and how dirt cheap! A massive roast lunch (not really my choice just after an excess of roast dinners over the past few days, but the mother in law likes it and it was a day for her) for £5.95. Including drinks, puddings and coffee, it came to less than a tenner a head. I don't think you could make a big family roast for much less, the price of meat these days, and we didn't have to do the washing up.
We went because it would have been my late father in law's birthday, and this is the first year she has been without him. Originally, the idea had been to have lunch and then do something with the ashes, which are at present sitting in a rather unglamourous plastic pot in the cupboard under her stairs. But in the end she couldn't make up her mind what to do with the ashes, so we just went out and had lunch.
The trouble is that my mother in law doesn't like making decisions, particularly if they are about something difficult or unpalatable, and this was both. I can see those ashes sitting there for years to come because she can't make up her mind what to do with them, as a somewhat grisly reminder of my father in law who was a very sweet man and certainly wouldn't have wanted that to happen. I bet next Christmas I'll be rummaging under the stairs for the bottle of port and trip over the bloody plastic pot, scattering him all over the carpet to be mixed in with the Shake'n'vac.
It does seem very odd, the thing about the ashes and what to do with them. Surely it would be better for the crematorium to charge an extra £500 (which sounds a lot, but the cost of funerals like everything else is astronomic so it won't make much difference) and automatically put a plaque up, or send them up in a firework, or whatever. But in essence to give you some definite choices, rather than just getting you to take them home to get them out of their way. In any case, they could just be any old ashes; I mean how do you know that what you've got is your loved one? The speed with which they process funerals through the chapels means that you could be getting anyone scraped out of the oven, surely?
Anyway, she's got them. And she can't decide what to do with them. But it's not healthy in so many ways (I don't mean they're infectious or unclean or anything, by the way) just to have them hanging about. There's something rather Victorian and gloomy about it, and no closure. I had the idea that they should be buried under a nice shrub in the garden; she likes gardening, they would produce a beautiful plant and still be close to her. But that was rejected. So back to racking the brains about it.
Personally, I think I'd like to be fired into the heavens in a firework. I've always liked flying, and there's something very attractive in the idea of being up there amongst the stars. Better write it into the will, so I don't end up in an undistinguished plastic pot in the under stairs cupboard too!
Yes, well I've thought long and hard about this one and really don't like the options available. Burial? no, all those worms and I'm claustrophobic, the thought (even though I won't know cos I'm dead) of being shut up tight in a box! Aaargh! Cremation? Nah, don't really like the idea of that, all that smoke going up and polluting the air, jsut the thought of someone breathing me in, yuk!
ReplyDeleteNo, I have come to the conclusion that I want a sky burial. this only, unfortunately happens in Tibet up a mountain. Your body is smashed up into bits, by some lovely calm Tibetan monks, chanting mantras and then mixed with Tsampa (that's their wheat), you see I really have looked into this. then the vultures come down and eat you up! Simple! Eco friendly and cheap! except, you do have to get out to Tibet and I'm not sure how easy it is to fly a corpse out there and then of course you've got to find some willing monks.
In all seriousness, I am actually serious, this is what I would like, but the practicalities are a tad difficult, I must say. And as for funerals, well this is a whole new topic!
My whole family have been sworn on their lives that Idefinitely do NOT want one! If someone has something nice to say about me, say it now, not when I'm dead.
Well, in the end it won't really be up to me, will it? But I sure as hell will come back and haunt them if they don't do what I want!
This is always a difficult topic and one I have often ruminated over. When guys my age start popping off for various reasons yet others live until their 90's, you do start thinking that it is all a bit of a lottery. I'm not going in the ground that's for sure, probably cremation, a damn good party afterwards and then my ashes scattered in a meaningful way, Lord's cricket ground? White Hart Lane? Jasper National Park overlooking the Athabasca River? I don't know. it is only symbolic after all. Knowing my luck, my ashes will probably get mixed up with a bloody Arsenal supporter.
ReplyDeleteMy dad had a good send off. He was in the Royal Navy during the war and my mum got special permission to have his ashes 'buried' at sea in Plymouth Sound. The navy arranged a special cutter to take him out, his urn covered in the Royal Ensign and accompanied by naval ratings. On the way to his final resting place, the fleet at harbour lowered their pennants to half mast and as he passed each ship a small detail aboard saluted him. It was incredibly moving, gave my mum total closure and comfort in the knowledge that that was exactly what he would have wanted. At the end of the day, that is all you could wish for.
Gosh Steve that sounds amazing. What rank was your Dad?
ReplyDeleteHi Janette - decided to post a comment at last as this subject is particularly close to me at the moment.
ReplyDeleteEveryone has their own view on what happens to them once they "go" but sometimes it just isn't practical (Kay!). I'm not keen on being buried, but the thought of being burnt in an oven isn't very appealing either. My husband is adamant he wants to be buried - he is very fond of history programmes and loves "Time Team" and "Meet the Ancestors" particularly, and I think he quite fancies the thought of one day being dug up and featuring in a programme about who he might be/how he died/what work he did...etc. He also insists that he is buried in Scotland (well, he is Scottish so I'll let him off that one) so that's going to cause a few problems and cost a few quid, although marginally less than Tibet, I'm guessing.
My father died in October and my mum is still waiting for his ashes - none of us are sure exactly where he is at the moment! She has arranged for a plaque to be made and placed in the local church graveyard for us to "visit", although, as you say, you can't be absolutely sure who is in the urn really. But I suppose it does seem a more fitting place than under the stairs.
When I go I think I would like my ashes (yep, cremation won over burial) to be scattered from the Church on top of Brentor in Devon, a place I have visited and loved for most of my life. No one knows quite where we go once we have left this earth, but if I have the view from that Tor for eternity, I shall be quite content.