In the 1980s, when he began to talk about being buried at sea(link to Pt 1), my mother grew very concerned.
“Where will I be buried?” she wondered.
["Remembrance Day, 2009. This fellow sparked a memory of my dad": photos GH]
Dad held onto his idea, like an old dog to his last bone.
I was drawn into the debate while in my thirties but can’t remember stating any strong opinions one way or the other and the matter was not resolved while mother was alive.
I did, however, later learn that my mother had asked her brothers if she could be buried alongside or atop her mother in Norwich, and her wishes had been spurned. I can only imagine how isolated she felt.
The matter of where she was to be buried had to be discussed, of course, after she passed away in November, 2000.
(Because of Parkinson's disease, we lost her long before she breathed her last breath).
["Dad built many birdhouses. He would have liked this on"]
While talking about the need for a grave site and grave stone with my father, I also ventured into unknown and somewhat frightening territory - the matter of where he would be buried too.
Then in my fifties, I was confident and wise enough to handle things slowly.
While driving down country roads on a weekly basis, with coffees in hand, my dad and I talked a bit about mom’s burial site, birds, gravestones, favourite barns, our love for back roads and one new idea.
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A Promise to Fulfill - please click here to read Part 3.
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