The set up
It is Boxing Day 2019 and it is a grey rainy but happy day. I am sitting at the living room of the Prospect Tower in Kent which is where I’m spending my Christmas break with my Highgate friend. The fireplace is lighted, Anna Karenina’s music theme is playing in the background, while the rain is lashing on the windows and we are both keeping ourselves creatively busy. Me writing my blog and my friend…hmm I’m not sure what he is up to on his laptop but he definitely seems absorbed by whatever he is doing!
It is our third day in this wonderfully secluded Landmark Trust estate and it has been a truly fantastic experience so far. I never thought I would experience this type of accommodation and holiday. But that is the subject for another blog.
This last blog of the year is dedicated to a walk by the seaside that I did with my Greek best friend in order to scatter my dad’s ashes. A walk that took place on Saturday 23 November, a week after my dad’s departure from this earthly world.
The inevitable call
We are told many times in our lives, probably from the time we are born, that the only thing that is certain is that we will definitely depart from this world at some point. We consciously choose to ignore this important and inevitable truth and dismiss it for as much as we can afford to. Nevertheless, death does happen and it is most likely that your parents’ end of life will come before yours. Despite the constant reminder that it will happen and the preparatory conversations that you start having about it with your parents after they pass a certain age threshold, you still keep this thought locked in a hidden box at the back of somewhere, as if by doing so it might break the mould of life and make it not happen.
Pretty naïve approach I must say, as unless I am mistaken, the elixir of eternal life has not been discovered yet and the mere locking of the thought in a box is by no means going to exorcise death. As many others before me and many others after me will, I was confronted with the proof of this naivety when I received a phone call from my dad’s closest friend on a Sunday afternoon telling me that I should return to Athens as my father had been admitted to ICU and doctors said he only had a few days or even hours to live.
Having just spent a lovely long weekend with my Greek best friend in London, it was only a few hours since I returned home and was in the middle of ironing when I received the phone call. It was on my mind to call mum a little later in the evening, as I knew that dad had been admitted to hospital as he was feeling weak from radiotherapy treatment but they told me it was only to build up his strength. So while I was concerned and apprehensive, I didn’t imagine that after two days of being admitted to hospital he would start his journey to the other world. Since I knew next to nothing about his illness it was quite natural for me to not be prepared for that phone call.
After my dad’s friend call, I still didn’t feel the impact of his words. So when I called mum and her voice for the first time ever in a very long time was in a state of panic and she confirmed the same details about my dad’s last hours, that is when it finally hit me that this is inevitable call that we all hope it finds us strong.
The arrival in Athens
I must say that in the first instance I was not strong. I panicked about silly details that shouldn’t matter, like will I be able to find a ticket to fly over at such short notice, what will it cost me, how do I take time off work, what will my boss say, should I really fly now or wait until he has actually departed. As always in my most dire times I reached out for my English best friend who, in her practical and wise manner, became the voice of reason and gave me the context I needed to come back to my senses and sort out practicalities. My biggest fear at the time was that I thought I would be a completely useless presence and wouldn’t have anything to offer to mum.
I guess that was my one and only moment of lack of strength because when I touched down in Athens suddenly my survivor’s instinct kicked in and I coped with everything. For the first time in my life I was travelling for a sad reason, not for holidays or business. The feeling was not great. I know there are many of others like me who travel for unpleasant reasons, but again this was an experience that I would have rather not gone through.
The details of the last days of my dad are not important. It happened so fast since I touched down that I didn’t get a chance to realise it. I arranged everything for him and his cremation and within a couple of days we received his urn with his ashes and my Greek best friend was by my side to take me to the seaside to scatter them and liberate his soul.
The seaside walk with my friend
It was a sunny November Saturday morning, exceptionally warm to the point where only a light coat and sunglasses were needed. My friend arrived just before midday and the two of us set off for Schinias, a seaside place where we used to go summer swimming when we were young and which is quite close to home.
Mum being emotionally and physically tired stayed at home. She has said her goodbyes to dad at a different time before I arrived and she didn’t feel the need to come along on this last leg of dad’s journey. Despite the sobriety of the days our drive with my friend was quite cheerful and positive. We were chatting about the aftermath and immediate practicalities rather than feelings. There was somehow no room or need especially from my side to delve into feelings. Grief had not hit me at the time and it still hasn’t.
After about forty-five minutes we arrived at a beautiful spot where there were only just a few people around. The sea was totally calm as if it was a hot summer day. Not even the smallest of waves there to break the serenity, not the smallest cloud to denote the November autumn time. My friend and I did a small scouting walk to find the right place to scatter dad’s ashes away from the few people that were around. Once we discovered the perfect spot, we went to the car, took the urn and I did the final act. I opened up the box and slowly but steadily released dad’s soul into the water, bidding him farewell and thanking him for the life he shared with us in this earthly world. There were no tears, no feelings and no thoughts. Just a sense of content that I was with him until the very end and that I freed his spirit and essence. One could argue that the end took place in the ICU when his heart stopped beating. For me, the very end was that moment when the last of his ashes touched the water and gently drifted away from me.
There were a lot of questions in my mind; did I do things the way dad would have wanted; was it the right place to scatter the ashes; why is it that I’m not crying or feeling grief. No one answered the questions.
My friend and I moved on to a nice little fish taverna and with the weather being so warm we sat outside, just a few meters from the shore, to have lunch. We were hoping to have fish soup as the Greek ritual proposes after a funeral, and it was written on the blackboard, however, being late in the season it was not available. We never the less had nice fish mezes and half a carafe of white house wine. It was a special time with my friend during which we were talking about our recent catch-up in London and how sudden life can turn around so within a few days we saw each other again for something that happened unexpectedly. None of us realised when we were having branch at Notting Hill on a Sunday morning that three days later we would meet at the airport in Athens because of my dad’s sudden deterioration. Yet both of us felt blessed to have each other in our lives to share both the ups and the downs. And being alive and hopeful we moved on to discuss about future plans and the next occasion of our meeting in May in London and perhaps going to Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre, a place where neither of us have gone to.
After our lunch we did a long walk by the seaside to find a little local church, Agia Marina, where I wanted to leave dad’s urn. It was well into the afternoon by that time and the sun was scorching. There were a few swimmers along the way taking advantage of the unusual warm weather but generally there were not that many people around. This made our walk serene and enjoyable. We reached the church after a good 40 minutes of walking. We lighted a candle, said a little prayer for dad and then took the way back. My friend shared with me a nice joke which she knew my dad would have liked to hear and which made us laugh with our hearts. We had a light conversation for most of the way and our walk ended in a small local shop where my friend stopped to buy a bottle of water and a small chocolate bar to treat ourselves. And in this sweet way our walk ended. It was time to get back in the car and return home to resume life.
The epilogue
I truly felt blessed on that day to have had my good friend by my side, to give me comfort and keep me company. And as walking is where I find comfort and strength, I feel very lucky that there were was someone with me for this kind of walk.
Dad has gone suddenly without giving me a chance to say goodbye to him in the way I hoped I would, but he will always be in my heart and mind. I have a feeling he will be there with me in many of my future walks that I do. This blog is dedicated to his memory (2 July 1934 – 17 November 2019).
Walks and Smiles 