A Send Off to the Sea

Our staghorn tree suddenly looks like its leaves have been dipped into crimson paint.

Autumn is definitely upon us.

I think, alongside Spring, it is a favourite season of mine. By the end of Summer, the deciduous trees look a little tired and droopy, but then, as a last hurrah before Winter, they put on their firey display.

There will be nothing firey about my display when I do my run in Scotland this weekend coming, as I’ve slacked right off after August’s burst of energy. This is why I will never progress much with my running, as I’ll always find an excuse to scupper my flow. Be it weekends away or torrential rain. But still, I’m looking forward to a few days  in Edinburgh.

We had a long weekend away at the beginning of September, as first we had to drop off the cat to his rightful home in London. He never wants anything more to do with me as I was the one who shoved him into his little cage for the trip, but he loved being back home. From there we went up east to just near Skegness for a weekend with my siblings.

I have always denigrated ‘Skeggie’ without really knowing the place but I take it all back, because if you just go a mile or two away from the main drag of chip shops and amusement arcades, there are some pristine and nearly empty sandy beaches. To be fair, even the centre was clean and well stocked for the kids, with crazy golf, a little boating lake and buckets of Mr Whippy ice cream.

We weren’t there for this though; we wanted a nice quiet stretch of coastline to send our dad’s ashes to the sea.

Traditionally, in Hindu culture, the ashes would be given to a river. It can be any river, but the Ganges in India is seen as the most holy. Our mum’s ashes were taken to the river Avon, in Stratford, and originally we thought to do the same for our dad. However, all rivers flow into the sea and Dad, being a practical man, would have appreciated the more direct route!

It was a mild afternoon and the sun shined, unexpectedly, for the occasion. We carved out ‘DAD’ in the sand, and added an extra ‘A’, as most of his grandkids called him ‘Dada’. We sprinkled his ashes into the letters and added rose petals to lay amongst them. Then we all waited for the tide to come in.

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This was another reason why we chose the sea instead of a river. Here, we had the space to wait, and contemplate, while the tide crept closer, and eventually gathered in the remains of our dad.

It was beautiful and emotional and we were able to raise a glass later with lighter hearts.

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