We’re planning to scatter my dad’s ashes later this month.
Last weekend we had a pub lunch in honour of his birthday. I have a nasty feeling that was a far more suitable and meaningful tribute than pouring a container of ash into a field. Deeply symbolic or not.
Symbolic ceremonies aren’t really my thing. The practical horrors of, say, a sudden change in wind direction are though. I attended one similar ceremony where the ashes had been carefully thrown into the air so that they covered a large part of a beautiful garden. Then, as if in slow motion, a group of Women’s Institute members walked through the middle of the scattering, presumably picking up parts of the departed as they went in search of a teashop.
Maybe I should do some research.