While I was visiting the magical west coast of Scotland last week, my friend and host Carole drove me hither and thither around the high roads and low roads to Port Appin, a small village on the shores of Loch Linnhe where we sat eating a superb seafood lunch in the unexpected but very welcome September sunshine. The table we chose was a very special one as it was Carole’s father’s favourite table and the one where he sat every time he visited The Pier House Hotel. Even though Alzheimers’s took a hold in later years he never lost the love that he felt for this place, over time he had forged a deep connection to the calm waters stretching over to the Isle of Lismore and the Sgeir Bhuidhen Lighthouse, standing guard at the foot of the majestic rolling mountains in the distance.
The view was breathtaking, making it easy to understand why this extraordinary vista had made such an indelible mark on his heart so it was not a surprise when Carole told me this was where, following his wishes, her father’s ashes had been scattered. I could sense Carole felt a strong emotional connection too, even more so now that her father was part of the landscape he loved so much.
And then I felt a deep sense of guilt.
I still have my parents’ ashes.
I am not sure how dreadful or morbid or maybe even normal that sounds to anyone else.