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You know those Facebook reminders you get, telling you what happened X years ago?

The other day I got one reminding me that 5 years ago I scattered my husband’s ashes at Polly Joke. I remember it well - I went with my dear friend Deb, and we danced along the silky sand as the tide came in, and sent him on his way. Actually it was only part of him - I keep the other half here, in my bedroom, in a very fine biscuit tin.

To further honour his memory, we went for a drink afterwards - which is of course what he would have done - and toasted a very special, lovely man.

A few nights ago I dreamt about him. It was his birthday, and he refused to celebrate, but said he would do so the next day. This was and wasn’t true - he enjoyed any excuse to go to the pub, though he wasn’t so keen on celebrating the actual day.

He would have been 76 this year. There are so many things I would like to share with him, and I do still talk to him. When I’m worried he was good at sharing my problems. He would fiercely defend me when needed - though his mantra was always, “you must fight your own corner, Pop.” I would love him to know about the good things that have happened over the intervening years. About taking up sailing, and getting our own boat, which he would be most proud of.

His face smiles at me from the wall of my kitchen. It shines at me from the mantelpiece of the Seven Stars in Falmouth. And deep in my heart, there is a place entitled ‘My Pip’.

This post first appeared on Flowerpot Days, please read the originial post: here

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