She's back. Well, not really.
Today Deb, Alan and I drove to pick up the ashes. I knew it would not be easy, and it wasn't. But Gary the guy, in his smart suit and carefully combed bonce, guided us gently through the process.
I say ashes, but in effect it is a mix of incinerated bone and cardboard, ink and I don't know what, but it matters little. What isn;t there was always the important stuff. Not what remains.
She arrived, in a silver tube, that just so happens to go quite well in the lounge next to the grey lamp and the back cabinet. And it looked somehow colourfully fitting, when Gonzo's arms wrapped themselves around her.
If pronouns are still valid here.
But I'm jumping ahead. First was the Rowcroft visit, to where we had donated Cherry's clothes, her boots, her new coats and her jigsaws that we once sat and pondered over in those innocent post-chemo days. There, we sat in the cafe, where she already was known, and I, as I do everywhere now, checked her in on Swarm*
Then it was to Cockington, and the lakes and the trees and the parkland, that shone in outstanding beauty today, with 100 foot tall magnolias and Tibetan Cherry trees summoning us to stop and sit and listen to the gentle hum of nature.
There I signed her in, again, finding a spot beneath one tree, to leave a memento, of her love for this place, this idyllic hide-away tucked out of sight, a few minutes from the coast.
Then to the pub next door for a swift half, another check-in, so she had done the rounds and then back home, to the arms of Gonzo, the sofa and the afternoon sun.
From here, who knows. Perhaps the angle of the sun, or the flight path of a gull, will guide us from here.
*Swarm - a little know check-in app that we had used for over 10 years wherever we went. Vying to get checked in before the other person and build Mayorships and silly meaningless points. No-one I know uses it, so it was just a game we played with each other.
