It has been almost a year and three months since Robin, my husband, died. He was adamant that if he died before I did, he wanted to be cremated, and so he was. His ashes were spread in the ocean off Arisaig in the Scottish Highlands, in an incredibly beautiful place called “The Loch of Heaven”, and also in the Ocean off Gloucester Massachusetts, in a beautiful place called “Old House Cove.”
There was an issue, though, that neither of us foresaw, and that many people probably don’t think of: what do you do with the urn when the ashes have been spread? If its a fancy urn, it can be donated to someone in need, but Robin wasn’t a fancy guy, and I didn’t get a fancy urn: the funeral home gave me his ashes in a plain black plastic box. I have have been wondering ever since what to do with that box after Arisaig and Gloucester.
I went to Arisaig last June, and Gloucester last August; Robin’s urn has been sitting in a shrine for him ever since. After a year had passed, I knew that it was definitely time to do something, but do what? There were still traces of Robin’s ashes in the urn; everyone I consulted with both in real life and on the internet said to throw the plastic urn in the recycling bin!?!?! I couldn’t bear the thought of doing that, so it has just been sitting on a shelf. Keeping the urn forever was an option, but that just didn’t seem right: I don’t think Robin would want that.
So, tonight, I finally did it: during a wonderful summer rain storm, I rinsed out the urn, spread what traces of Robin’s ashes that remained under the pear tree in our yard, and then I threw the urn in the recycling bin. I am feeling a peace right now that I didn’t know was possible. I think Robin is much happier with his remains under the pear tree than he was with them on the shelf.
I write this partly in the hope that it may help someone facing the same kind of situation. A few years before Robin died, his best friend was killed in a car accident: his best friend’s wife has been an incredible support to me through all of this, and she advised me early on that when clearing out Robin’s things, “you have to be brutal about it” she said. I think she was right. It seems to me that when a husband or wife dies, the one left behind has three choices: you can die along with the person, you can go crazy, or you can continue living, which may seem rather brutal, but it’s the right choice.
Robin always kept his clothes on an open shelf: I kept them there until they started getting dusty. I couldn’t bear the thought of giving his clothes away, but doing laundry for a deceased person is a little too crazy, so I finally broke down and donated his clothes. The reason you have to be brutal about it is because at first, you think you will do it at some point in the future when it will be easier. But at some point you realize it’s never going to be easier. You can either be a psycho who does laundry for a man who died months or years ago, or you can be brutal and give his clothes away.
I had the same kind of feeling tonight. I forced myself to spread Robin’s ashes under the pear tree, knowing that it was never going to be easier. I tried not to think about it: I told myself that I would just have to be brutal about it, but as I was standing there in the rain under the pear tree, the most incredible feeling of peace came over me, and is still with me. I feel for the first time that I have finally, totally given Robin a decent burial: I didn’t realize how unsettling it was to have that urn on the shelf.
I pray to Robin, or through his intercession, often, and 99 and 2/3 percent of the time, Robin answers, usually within seconds. But he has never initiated contact with me: when I pray to him, he is right there, but I have to make the first move. Some would say that I am crazy, and maybe I am, but I would advise anyone grieving a loved one to try praying to that person. St Anthony is the saint that Catholics pray to when they have lost something, but in my experience, St Anthony doesn’t have anything on Robin. Our loved ones who have passed are watching over us, and they want to help us, but they won’t impose themselves: we have to ask for their help. Since his death, Robin has helped me so much so many times, and the comfort of that surpasses all understanding. I know that sounds crazy, but it’s true.
Robin’s favorite song: https://youtu.be/P7C53nNffVA
ST UnWoked & UnVaxxed! 
Amen, JaC – and Godspeed, Robin! I’m glad you gave yourself the time you needed; and each person’s needs will be different. (I’d have buried the container as it was under that lovely pear tree – but that’s just me.) Decisive, rather than brutal, methinks. There’s enough of that in the world right now anyway. Hugs – and thanks for sharing that smile and those twinkling eyes with us once more.
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Thank you so much, Nanda, hugs!
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Oh Judy…I don’t have any words for this…the Lord bless yoU and keep you.
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Thank you, Hypatia.
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Thank you for sharing this very private story with us; my thoughts are with you.
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Thank you, Liz.
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That was one emotional write-up, Judy. I know there is a place in the heart that will never be filled, once a loved one goes away.
What was that urn made of? Mostly in India, it is a biodegradable earthen pot and it goes into the water body along with the ashes.
You are very correct in saying that our loved ones are watching over us. In India, we remember our ancestors during a specific period every year, try and connect with them, and donate in their name to the needy.
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Thank you, Sandomina. The urn was made of plastic: I didn’t choose it. I never would have chosen a plastic urn, but I had never been in this situation before. The days after Robin’s death are a blur. If I remember correctly, I agreed to a basic, simple urn, not understanding that would mean plastic. During his memorial service, Robin’s ashes were in a simple wooden urn: I didn’t know at that time that there was a plastic urn within the wooden one.
I was a little bit horrified when I was presented with the plastic urn, but I think Robin would be ok with it. Robin is a very no frills, no nonsense kind of guy: the black plastic box was, as he would say, fit for purpose. I was a little shocked at first by plastic, but am ok with it.
But for others who may face this situation, you should understand: if you agree to “simple” and “basic” you may find yourself presented with a plastic box.
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My best friend had always told me he wanted some of his ashes to be up here on my property where we had had such good times. When he died, his widow informed me that I was not welcome at his funeral. I felt like there was only ONE thing left I could do for him: put the ashes where he had asked me to. But had he ever told anybody else that? I knew he hadn’t left any written instructions. I actually called the funeral home; the funeral director had been a childhood friend of his, maybe he had instructed him about it..? No.(And I felt like a crazy stalker—of a dead guy! )
About 6 months later, I got a call from a mutual friend of ours. . He had sump’n for me. About 6 oz of my Best friend, in a plastic snap-lid pill bottle. (Neatly labeled with the d.o.d, so I think the funeral home must’ve done it…) I clutched that bottle so tightly in my hand while I made polite conversation with the burly messenger, that it’s a wonder I didnt pop it open.
So my friend HAD told somebody: his wife. And she eventually grudgingly conceded to his wishes, despite her hatred for me, and—- I sincerely, desperately hope: out of her love for him.
Darling Judy, this is in no way comparable to your loss..forgive me for even sharing it, but: this is the only place I could ever tell the story.
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Oh, Hypatia, love is love and loss is loss, thank you for sharing this story! I am so sorry that you lost your best friend.
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I personally know how this hurts. It hurts Badly. I am determined to go on, I strongly urge you to do the same. Strange, I have the clothes my wife was wearing, laundered and folded, waiting for me to decide what to do with them. Somewhat like the clothes you mentioned for Robin. My wife was very uncomfortable, I helped her take off her jeans, her blouse and bra and helped her into a simple nightgown. That’s when she had the final attack and passed out. I tried CPR and well you probably read the story.
I later, a few days later, laundered them and placed them reverently aside.
Several things my wife would not approve of I am doing to help me over this. That’s why I feel she did not communicate with me. But her niece had seen some signs. They were close.
I am so very happy for you that you still have the link with Robin. Also you didn’t not mention how long you two were together. My wife and I were married 30-1/2 years, we knew each other for about 42.
Damn I’m in tears again. Take care Judy, that is my wife’s name too.
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Thank you so much, Gerry. Robin and I were married for 12 and 1/2 years, knew each other for 14 years. I am in the process now of painting the inside of the house, and re decorating and re arranging: obviously, I want to honor Robin, but I can’t allow my home to continue being the museum of Robin, which it currently is. He wouldn’t-doesn’t-want that. But it’s so hard, I am so sorry that you lost your Judy, praying for you always.
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