Yesterday I went to my grandparents ashes plot at the cemetery. Last time I visited was 2019, which feels almost embarrassing for me to write. I don’t know why I haven’t been more often, it’s just one of those things I guess.
We also went to visit a mutual friend who died around 3 years ago now, well before his time.
I always find these places hauntingly serene. This one my grandparents are in is 43 acres so it’s hyooge; the plots take some finding and there was no sign of Anneka Rice.
First we went to visit our friends plot. As soon as we got there we were surrounded by an ungodly number of crows.
Yes, I know that’s only one crow (don’t laugh) but there were tons I promise you.
I took a picture of them in the tree but they sort of blended in with all the branches.
Spot the Crow:
I don’t know about you, but to me crows always look like they know way more about what’s going on than what we do. It makes you wonder if they are in touch with the afterlife and connected in some way.
I digress. Our old friend was called Nigel and here’s a photo of him:
When I *really* knew Nige, years before, he was an easy going guy and we’d often go out drinking on a Friday night when we were in our twenties. If you’d asked me back then, I’d never imagine him no longer being around just a couple of decades later. I went to his wedding, which just seemed meant to be… and I always imagined them being together into old age.
The finality of loss is the hardest thing. I think that’s why humans look for signs of their presence in other forms after they are no longer with us.
Who is to say that is wrong. You can’t see radiowaves but they undoubtedly exist. It’s just the frequency that we tune into that’s different even though it’s not visible to the naked eye.
Our friend never had a physical memorial of any description with his name on. Nothing to hang your hat on.
Unless you knew he was scattered there, you just wouldn’t know he ever existed beyond shared memories and old photos. It’s a sobering thing, thinking about existing and then vanishing into the ether isn’t it, even though it is something that happens to all of us.
For me personally, it’s better if I can see a name or a photo. Something to focus on when you’re thinking about them just seems sensible.
My grandparents died in the 1990’s and they do have something to stand and reflect by. When we arrived there, someone had already been and left flowers. I added another two so it became a plethora.
My mate and I joked about throwing the old flowers away placed by someone else to make way for the new ones placed by myself (LOL).
We never did of course…
My grandfather fought in the war and was a fishmonger for 50 years until he retired. His work ethic was sickening, never taking a day off in all those years and he took a dim view of anyone that was work-shy.
He had the same sort of sense of humour as me. If I ever told him anything was hurting after falling over (etc) he’d disappear and come back with a rusty saw offering to cut it off. He always found this hilarious.
He wasn’t the sort of bloke to talk about his feelings, so at some level I never knew him fully. At the same time, he never really complained or spoke of wanting anything more than what he had. My grandfather was the least materialistic man I have ever met in my life.
My grandfathers death was the first one I ever experienced in my life up until that point. I think that’s why it hit me so hard. That and the fact I looked up to him so much. After he died I kept replaying the final conversations I had with him in my head.
There are things I never got to ask or know about him, but at least he lived long enough for me to know him. You see, 19 years prior to this he flatlined in the hospital after having a heart attack and they had to resuscitate him. He was 55 at the time.
If that hadn’t been successful the only reference point I’d have had would have been old photos.
Here’s a photo of me with my grandather as a kid. We were in Bromyard visiting family, which is a place he always loved to go to.
Here’s another picture of him when he was in the Second World War:
And a blurry picture of him in his regiment:
My grandmother always seemed like she would live forever. She always reminded me of her mortality and it became a running joke in the end. Even now as I write this, I don’t think she ever really went anywhere. Not really.
As a kid I always used to play cards with her and read her jokes out a joke book I had somehow acquired. She used to belly laugh at these jokes, which encouraged me to keep telling them.
In later years I’d visit her on my lunch breaks from work. They would always be flying visits involving a quick cup of tea, a hastily grabbed sandwich from Greggs and her waving out of the window at me as I drove off.
After visiting Nige and my grandparents, my friend and I went to a pub that Nige always went to. Upon arrival in the car park, when we got out of our cars there was a crow close to us in a small tree, despite the fact it was actually snowing.
We had a couple of pints and chatted just as we would if Nige was still with us. It’s a nice thing to do and I think we shall probably do it again in a year so.
This post is dedicated to absent friends and loved ones. Amen and thanks for reading. The next post will be the usual humorous observations I expect.
I’m playing this out with Missing by Everything But The Girl…