Scattered

It's just over a year since we picked up Andrew's ashes from the undertakers.

Here's the poem I wrote about them.

All That Remains

Picked up ashes

They run like sand through my fingers,

Dark sand

Like the shores of Tahiti.

Volcanic black remains

A place where our story began

Love and tenderness intermingled.

White bone,

Black ash,

And specks of golden wood.

Weighing as much as our babies

But heavier by far,

The weight of the world

Encompassed in a shoe box.

The depth of our love

To be blown on the wind.

We stopped in Tahiti on our way to New Zealand for our honeymoon. It was the one place I always wanted us to return to when the boys had flown the nest. The beaches are made of black sand and I was reminded of them as I stared at the ashes before me.

Our dreams were gone and this was all that was left.

If you click here you can read about the day we scattered them which typically didn't go to plan...