On Friday we visited the cemetery. As it was a public holiday, the place was deserted. It was a cool morning, and the sun was warm on my skin, which was a good thing because I felt chills walking through the cemetery.
No, not because I thought it was haunted. It was because a part of me recognised the truth. Barry is dead. That’s a cold, hard fact. And, as I walked amongst the graves of other dead people, I have to admit that this upset me.
Considering the size of the area this cemetery services, I was surprised by the few places “occupied” in the two Ashes Walls. The photo above shows the smaller of the two.
There is another option. We could place Barry in the retaining wall surrounding the garden seen behind the wall in the photo, but I didn’t like that idea. I didn’t like the garden, it was a bit overgrown and messy. More importantly, I didn’t like the thought of his ashes easily assessable by vandals either. I’ve heard horror stories regarding this in the past and I couldn’t stand it to happen to my son’s resting place. No, I can’t let that happen.
I cried as I walked around the walls, and the graves, and read the inscriptions. So many young deaths. So much heart ache. It just doesn’t seem right or fair. Having seen the place I intend to place Barry, it hasn’t made my decision any easier. In fact, I think it may be a little harder. Maybe I’m not ready to let go just yet. Maybe it’s enough for me to know the options that are available, for the time being. Maybe I’ll just let Barry rest on his bed until the time feels right.