Well, it’s over.
We laid my father’s ashes to rest last Friday, the 3rd.
Had a message from my university friend earlier, the one whose wife passed away earlier in the week… he was going through some old videos and found ones of him and her and me when we were at Yosemite… her funeral was on the 1st of June… I sent flowers to the funeral home and a card for everyone to the house. I’ve never been through a period with so many ups and downs so close together… or maybe it’s always been like this and I didn’t see it?
Dad’s interment was sad but good. I drove to my aunt’s in Peterborough where I met my sister and her husband. We talked and had a good time… and my aunt gave me the painting that Mom had done when I was a kid, the one of the bridge that hung over her couch for a long time. I’d asked her to paint a bridge when I was a kid.
Then we drove to the cemetery in Oshawa. I got there a little before, and the first people I saw were my friends at one of their parents’ gravestones. My friend’s sister and her husband were there as well (unexpected last-minute arrival).
We went over to the office area. My stepfather arrived and I didn’t recognize him even though I’d seen him the week before. Something about the sunglasses and the shirt. (Stupid face blindness…) My sister and brother-in-law and aunt arrived. Sadly, my other aunt, Dad’s sister, wasn’t able to be there because of the long travel.
My sister went into the office to handle the paperwork, and the rest of us stood around talking. A little later I went in as well… met the minister and all. I chose to carry Dad’s ashes, in their box all wrapped in green velvet, out to the gravesite. There was a golf cart to take those who wanted over, as it was a bit of a walk. I was going to walk, but at the last minute I decided to ride. Most people walked.
When we got there, I put the box of ashes on the little table next to Dad’s pictures. The minister spoke. My sister read a poem she’d found among Dad’s things. I read the last paragraph of that long thing I posted earlier, all about the things Dad did. My sister put the box of ashes in the hole. We shoveled a little dirt on top, and then each of us laid flowers on it. Then that was that. We slowly walked back to the main office.
We took a detour to my mom’s burial location. I hadn’t seen that for a while either; she has a plaque on a wall in a different part of the cemetery. My stepfather’s name is there too, ready for when he passes.
We parted and went our separate ways, sister and brother-in-law and aunt back to Peterborough, friends and I to their place. In the morning it would be time to go to the north and my cousins’ place on the Bruce Peninsula.
Saturday morning there was tremendous rain. I passed by my friend’s new church–the one the congregation just bought–in Holland Landing, in the pouring rain. The new sign my friends had been working on Friday night stood proudly outside. I passed through the crossroads town of Cookstown, where the entire town had turned out for an arts-and-crafts fair, or collective yard sale, or something. The streets were lined with tents. But the rain was pouring down on them, and nobody was visiting.
By 11:30 I was only in Shelburne and I knew it was going to take longer than I thought to get to the Bruce. The rain had largely ended by that time, though.
I got to my cousins’ place around 3:00. It was very good to see my aunt and my cousins. We talked about stuff, and sat in the hot tub, and looked at pictures. I scanned some of my aunt’s pictures.
On Sunday, I decided to visit Tobermory, because I’d never actually been there. My sister and I passed through the town once when we came down on the ferry, but we didn’t actually stop. So I drove up and parked and explored the town. (I thought about taking the ferry though. You can get a walk-on return excursion fare and not get off at the other end.)
And I was constantly thinking of Dad. I went into the chart shop and looked at all the nautical charts and things, and looked at the water that was so clear you could see the bottom of the harbour, and I had fish in the fish shop, and all these things reminded me of Dad. I think I was more used to Dad’s death because I’d seen him around the time of death, but still, being so far away for me too aided in disconnection. I was very glad that my semi-employment allowed me to be there during the last week.
After visiting Tobermory, I went to the visitor’s centre of Fathom Five Marine National Park, just south of town. After watching a short video (did you know that the Bruce has flying squirrels? I didn’t), I climbed the 20-metre observation tower and was treated to stunning views: boreal forest nearby, and islands in blue blue water to the horizon. The town was half-hidden in a little valley around its harbour just to the north.
Unfortunately, I have no pictures from this point on… my camera/phone ran out of battery.
Then I went to “The Grotto” in Bruce Peninsula National Park, just down the road. You walk in from the parking area along a trail through the cedar forest. The air is rich in the smell of cedar, and the trail winds past several small lakes and past a beautiful little waterfall. Then the air changes, and the mid-forest drowse is replaced by fresh breezes bearing the scent of water. There is a hint of blue through the trees.
The graveled trail ends, and you’re on the bare limestone. The cliff edge is just ahead. A bay opens before you: limestone cliffs on either side, a brilliant white beach of limestone boulders and stones, all rounded by the waves… and the water. The incredible water. It was transparent shades of blue that I’ve never seen anywhere else. Caribbean pictures have turquoise water, but this water was a clear limpid blue without a hint of green, shading from white on the rocks to the deep deep blue of the lake towards the horizon. I’d call it glacial, even, but it was much too mobile for that word.
There were people scattered across the rocks, sunbathing, reminding me of a colony of walruses. Two people were actually in the water. They were in wetsuits. That water may look tropical, but it isn’t. 
I clambered down the rocks and went to the edge of the water. Cold… fresh… the cool breeze and the splashing of the waves, clearing the mustiness out of my mind.
A little ways away is The Grotto, a seacave carved out of the cliff. If I’m ever filming a pirate movie and want a place for them to hide their treasure, I know where to go. You have to climb over the rocks to get to it; the trails meander across the rocks, and the limestone is naturally broken into layers that make rough steps, so there isn’t a lot of trouble climbing up and down. You still need decent footwear though.
I sat there above the waves and the colours of the water, feeling the cool breeze on my face, thinking of Dad. I’m trying to lock in good feelings and memories to remember him by.
I got back to my cousins’ all sunburnt. One day without sunblocker…
On Monday, I drove back to my place. This was 6.5 hours according to Google Maps; if you added in actual stopping time for lunch, gas, etc, it was more like 7.5h. This is the longest I’ve ever driven in one trip in one day.
Going up Hwy 11 near Gravenhurst, I passed through places I remember from when I was a kid. Somehow this time I felt connected to memories and my family past in a way I haven’t before. I don’t know whether it was the time of year and the smells of the land, or what, but I felt like my family was with me.
Now I’m back here picking up the pieces and figuring out what’s next…