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Is It Just Me?

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nailit | 19:07 Sun 13th Jun 2021 | ChatterBank
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Went with my sister and niece today to sprinkle some of my mums ashes on to my dad's grave.
Felt no emotion whatsoever...as far as I was concerned we were just sprinkling dust on to a piece of grass. My sister and niece were a bit emotional though.
A bag of ash is not my mother and a piece of turf with a corpse under it is not my dad.

Think (and frequently dream) about my late mum often. I miss her terribly.
(not so much my dad now, he died 20 yrs ago but still miss him)
But just dont get this idea that my mum is now reunited with my dad because we scattered some ash on a piece of turf?
Just seems like a lot of hooey to me though I can understand that it gave my sister and niece a lot of comfort.

Feel a bit bad because I got more from today by feeding the squirrels in the cemetary.
Please tell me its not just me.
I just dont (can't) see a bag of ashes, or a corpse 6 feet under, as a loved one.





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If my ashes were made into a 'big old shapeless lump', Clover, it would be a perfect replica of me in real life ;-)
Me too, Buenchico:)

When we were burying my aunt’s ashes I’m sure the date was wrong on the little casket. I couldn’t get down on my knees and take my glasses off to check. That would have been a bit weird ;

Going back to the OP,no, it’s not just you nailit.
As lots have said, Nailit, everyone is different. Whatever you feel right with, then that's the way to go.

rowanwitch @19.12:
//Wish I had gone with my original plan of the Mersey on an outgoing tide. He sailed from there often enough in life.//
Sorry, didn't finish that! here goes in response to rowanwitch;

We scattered my mums' and dads' ashes on the Mersey from the ferry from Pierhead. That might seem odd for Mancunians but my dad had an awful childhood and the first job he ever had as a 14yr old was to join the Merchant Navy as a trainee at Wallasey, I presumed with Cunard, but he never said which shipping line. This freed him from the poverty and neglect he'd faced during his childhood, so in view of tha, we opted for the Mersey, with the approval of the ferry Captain. However, nothing ever goes to plan does it? When my mother went to scatter the ashes onto the water, a gust of wind blew them back onto the buffer board, just above the waterline, with very little of them actually going into the water. I think my dad would have found that very funny.
When my father died we were offered the ashes, but declined. We agreed they be scattered in the crematorium's rose garden.
I have never felt the need to visit it.

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