So many tears

I scattered my grandparents’ ashes yesterday. I’ve never scattered someone’s ashes before. I wasn’t entirely sure how it was done. All I knew was to check which way the wind was blowing to avoid getting a face full …

Husband wondered if there should be speeches. My mother contemplated sneaking into their old backyard and scattering them under the mulberry tree. But the new owners were tooling around in the garage and we decided they might not appreciate the sentiment.

My grandparents’ house is beside a river. We considered wading along the path that leads to the sandbar, but my mum’s knee couldn’t handle the overgrown verge. So we chose a magical location from our childhood – “the waterhole”.

We stood on the shore and I pointed out landmarks from tales I’ve told the kids about my childhood – there’s the sandbank where Aunty Kathryn cut her foot … here’s where we caught guppies in buckets … those little balls of sand are made by the crabs digging … Nana Peg would wake us at 6am to swim in the king tides, the water would go right up to those boats resting on the grass … my great-grandmother lived on a houseboat that was beached just over there …

My mother recalled sitting on the sandbar with her best friend, rolling toadie fish in their hands to make them puff up like balls. We stared at her, open mouthed. She’d never struck me as the rolling toadies type.

The ashes were in plastic containers. The containers were much bigger than I imagined. And heavier. Much heavier. I’d always envisaged a modest handful or two in an Aladdin’s lamp-style urn. They came wrapped in brown paper to be opened like a terrible Christmas gift. The lids of the containers were jammed on so tightly, my dad had to fetch a screwdriver from the car to lever them open. Little poufs of dust escaped as each finally popped.

My mother asked us to scatter some ashes around the tree my grandmother always sat under, watching over her granddaughters as they splashed in the water.

Finally, my dad and I waded out into the knee-deep water, scattering the ashes together so they mingled, laying my grandparents to rest in the river.

And I cried and cried. I had plenty of time for tears because the container felt like it would never empty. Long after my father finished scattering my grandfather, I was still shaking my grandmother over the surface of the water.

Finally, she was gone. I looked down and saw my jeans were covered in white dust. My grandmother was all over me. I dusted my jeans with my hands, and stared at my palms – she was all over them too.

I stopped crying for a moment – too busy brushing my grandmother off my pants. Then Husband enveloped me in a hug and I blubbed some more.

So many tears.

My grandparents’ final send-off – together again after 12 years apart.

May they rest in peace.