It went as well as pouting your mum's ashes in a plant pot can.
Those of the family who had been permitted by their wives to attend gathered around the plane plot in my sisters garden. I day garden-
- it's just a small yard, with some other scruffy plant pots containing scraggy plants and a lot of weeds. The plant plot they had chosen for my mums ashes was just a fake plastic one. Admittedly a good fake, but plastic none the less.
We troweled in some compost, then a layer of mum, then the plant itself, and more compost. The urn provided by the crematorium was also plastic, though it came in a nice velvety bag. Inside the urn was my mum, wrapped in two plastic bags. So I felt that they could have provided a bit more dignity.
The plant was a rose bearing my mothers name, so that is nice.
My brother-in-law then asked me to say a prayer, which I did. Having not been particularly emotional until then, that was when the tears flowed.
So that is it: the end of an era.
She was a very good mother. She never felt particularly maternal and it was always an effort for her (it was always Dad that played with us), but I would day that she did a fantastic job. She will be very much missed.
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