CAUTION! Long, rambling story to follow!
The Backstory: My parents’ 50th anniversary was in October of this year. Nearly a year ago, they decided they wanted to do something special with the whole family to mark the occasion, so they very generously booked us all on a 3-night Bahamas cruise over Thanksgiving weekend. This includes me, my two brothers, our three wives, and my four nieces.
The thing is, though, Dad didn’t quite make it to the anniversary. In September, the liver cancer he’d been battling for seven years finally got him. As devastating as it was, Mom announced that the cruise was still on. In her words, “He’d kick our butts if we didn’t go.”
Of course, we missed Dad terribly, but it was wonderful nonetheless. The trip was orignally meant to be a celebration of family, and that it most assuredly was. We relished the time together (an increasingly infrequent occurrence with three of the girls in college now), shared memories of Dad/Grandpa, laughed a lot and cried a little.
We had brought Dad’s ashes along, with the idea to release them off the ship at some point, but we’d made no real plans and quickly realized it would be a pretty tough feat to pull off from any of the public areas on board. And it’s a no-no anyway. So my older brother (the smart one!) decided to ask for help. He went to the guest relations desk, and it turns out they have an official procedure to accomodate this request.
It was quite the educational experience. There are myriad rules and regulations surrounding the scattering of ashes at sea. It can be done only at certain times of day, at a certain distance from land, with the ship at a certain speed, and so on. At the designated time, we met with a concierge who, along with the ship’s environmental officer and a safety officer, escorted all eleven of us through a door marked “Crew Only.”
We were led through corridors of employee staterooms, through the officers’ mess hall, a break room, a storage area, down some stairs… finally out into a large area in the aft of the ship cluttered with excess equipment, coils of incredibly thick rope, some discarded decorations – all kinds of crap. Someone remarked that this would have been Dad’s favorite part of the whole trip; he loved boats and would have been thrilled to see the “backstage” areas.
The area was open to the outside but protected by a metal lattice-like structure through which we could feel the misty breeze. At the floor were several large holes, presumably to drain the deck in rough waters. We were directed to one of the holes (chosen by wind conditions) and told to proceed when ready. My brother said a few eloquent words and asked if anyone had anything to add. No one did, and I think we were all too choked up to speak anyway. Mom knelt at the hole and tipped over the urn, and we could just barely see Dad’s ashes flying off into the darkness.
We stayed there for what seemed like a long time, crying and hugging one another. When we’d regained our composure, the concierge led us back up to the main deck and thanked us on behalf of the crew for the honor of assisting us. The whole procedure could not have been more beautiful or moving. Upon departure Mom was presented with a certificate signed by the Captain and the officers involved, showing the exact longitude and latitude at which we’d laid Dad to rest.
So, in case you’ve ever wondered what a burial at sea is like, now you know. And Kudos to Royal Caribbean for making it happen.