"Bury Me At Sea" 3

"Bury Me At Sea": A Father's Final Voyage

A WW2 Navy veteran's request becomes a son's great adventure

Previously from...

Mother's Death Breaks the Silence

And on November 26, instead of taking my father to see his wife I was going to visit him with tragic news.

Once home from the Running Room I asked siblings who lived nearby - and already alerted that our mother had died - to join me in the trip to my father’s small room at London’s Psychiatric Hospital on Highbury Avenue.

* * * * * 

Before I visited my father, however, my brother and I drove to Versa Care to see our mother for one last quiet visit. The two hours that passed there were likely full of dramatic weight but I can only recall four things.

First, my brother and I had to wait to see our mother’s body and have it released to a funeral home because a coroner had to see her before we did. Because mother was the third person to die at Versa Care during the week, her death had to be investigated. I doubted anything suspicious had happened. Parkinson’s had done its job. But I minded what seemed like a very long wait, and all the while I felt helpless, and out of sorts.

Second, when I had a private minute or two beside my mother’s bed, I stroked her arms as I’d done when she was alive but drifting away, and noticed her arms and hands looked in many ways like mine. We were indeed mother and son.

Third, when I lifted her in my arms and placed her upon a waiting gurney I realized how light and frail she had become. Surely she weighed less than ninety pounds.

Finally, I watched intently as the back door of a waiting hearse closed and she was taken away. As the car turned onto the county road I felt I’d seen my mother for the last time.

(I didn’t know at the time, but family members would be given the opportunity to see her momentarily just hours before she was cremated.)

The next thing I recall about the day's events is the walk my sister, brother and I shared in the hallway leading toward my father’s room at London Psychiatric Hospital on Highbury Avenue. We were dressed in our Sunday clothes and I was anxiously wondering what to say and how my father would respond.

But I needn’t have worried. He was braced for bad tidings. He was aware we were going to deliver serious news before we even reached his door.

“I could hear your leather shoes and the way you walked coming down the hall,” he said. And together we mourned our loss.

The countless remaining events of that day in November, 2000 are nothing more than a blur. I spent hours tracking down the whereabouts of an older sister and dealing with an all-knowing uncle and controlling aunt. I welcomed an array of guests to our home, fielded numerous phone calls and attempted to sort out many inevitable and pressing details. On more than one occasion I felt overwhelmed and recall snapping at a brother-in-law who just offered a small bit of advice.

However, later that day and through the next week my family (including our marriage partners) can be described as supportive and helpful. Together we made many necessary arrangements concerning the preparation of Edith’s obituary, her cremation, and a family gathering or wake in the family home according to her wishes. Without incident we assembled to read and act upon her last will and testament.

That being said, at some point, perhaps in early to mid-December, I realized storm clouds were very likely upon the horizon. Burial plans would have to be made, a grave site purchased, a grave stone engraved, and I recalled my mother didn’t want to be buried alone. About that she had been adamant. As well, my father wanted to be buried at sea, as he had wished and vividly expressed twenty years earlier.

Most of the pressures I felt on November 26 paled in comparison to what I thought lay ahead during discussions with my father.

Fortunately, while anxious thoughts filled my mind I received two gifts that brought some relief. 

More to follow.

Link to Bury Me At Sea 2

Photos by GH