Pilgrimage: Sending Mom Home

Introduction

 

I had to delay this for a year. Because of COVID restrictions I could not travel for the funeral, and so, the delay of grieving and saying goodbye had to wait a year. During this time, my mom’s ashes were cared for by Bellville Presbyterian Church. I had spent time thinking about how to spread her ashes, but at best I had decided on a few places, but nothing complete. I arrived in Cape Town after a lengthy flight from Boston, to London, to Johannesburg and finally Cape Town. While the trip involved more than just spreading ashes (there was family, friend and personal time of course), the focus of the trip, and the focus of this blog, is on the spreading of her ashes, which became a pilgrimage to send my mom home.

 

Once I had collected her ashes, I sorted them into potential places. I prayed and listened to what might be possible, selecting and then unselecting places. As this work of preparation, in silence and thought, continued a theme emerged: the theme of HOME. Each site of spreading ashes represented a symbol of home. At each site I decided to follow the same process with some adaptation as needed. I looked for a place to spread them, spent some time in silence, prayer or reflection, spread the ashes and then spent time in prayer and silence, processing my emotions and thoughts.

 

Lion’s Head

Cape Town was my mom’s home away from home. She loved Cape Town. She loved to visit her brother, and over the years had developed many deep friendships with people in Cape Town. It was her other home. At once I thought of the best location to spread her ashes where she could see all of Cape Town. Table Mountain seemed obvious, but Lion’s Head had another reason: my mom’s courage and persistence. 

 

On the school trips I’ve run to Cape Town we often hike up Lion’s Head. On one of these occasions my mom joined us. She was in her sixties and not fit. The sign at Lion’s Head says the hike takes 90 minutes. On that day, it took us 4 hours to get to the top. She walked, and stopped, walked and stopped. As the group moved further ahead, the guide and I stayed with her, working our way to the top. At times, the walk becomes a hand over hand rock climb. The guide and I would alternate between being ahead and behind helping her up the route. The minutes stretched into hours.

She never quit! We just kept going until, much later than others had arrived, we finally walked up the path onto the top of Lion’s Head. We spent time relishing the view, exploring the scenes and then, in the dark, began our descent. Overall it took 5-6 hours from top to bottom. It was a testament to her strength, courage and persistence. 

 

I chose Lion’s Head for these reasons: it speaks of her character and it shows a 360⁰ view of her home away from home. I had planned to spread her ashes at the pillar showing the highest point. However, as I sat at the top in prayer and thought, I noticed a few feet away was a blooming plant: the only blooming plant at the top. Out of a wide leaved plant, a stalk of buds grew. On the stalk, below several yet to bloom buds, were four pink/purple flowers. It was clear: this was her Lion’s Head spot. I spread her ashes at the base of the plant, surrounded by the views of her home. That moment also decided something else. At each spot I would look for something pink or purple to be a place to spread her ashes.

 

I spent some time after spreading her ashes, feeling the wind and the clouds sweep over, and looking at the places of interest: Seapoint where she wanted to live, Camps Bay where she would hang out, Clifton beaches where she went when she was younger, Table Mountain and in the far distance the northern suburbs of her brother’s home. It was a joyful time of beginning this pilgrimage and felt fitting and good.

Camps Bay

The second site was a place of peace, joy and fun for her. For those who knew Angela, they know that she loved the ocean and the coast. She hated sand but loved the sea. She loved Camps Bay. The luxury of the town, the wonderful restaurants, the beach, waves and views. Backed by Table Mountain and the Twelve Apostles, with the ocean spreading out before you, it is a vista of beauty uncommon around the world. She loved it.

I didn’t think the owners of the restaurants would like me spreading ashes in their entrances so I chose to walk out on the rocks to where the waves crashed on the coast line. Working my way out, I searched the rocks and areas for something pink or purple. Sadly, there was nothing close except for maybe a pinkish strain through the rocks if one really wanted there to be one. I sat in silence, soaking in the waves and wind, feeling the swell of each tide and the spray from each crash. As I sprinkled the ashes the wind blew them towards the beach and they quickly clung to the rocks or mixed with the water. I once again prayed and sat in silence allowing whatever emotions I was feeling to crash on me just like those waves.

 

This time, the emotions were sad. The feeling of loneliness washed over me – the loneliness of my mom who, surrounded by friends, had ended her life single. It was by her choice, after losing a great love to the ravages of depression and suicide. I felt that loneliness and my own sadness swell up. As I left the rocks and walked back to the beachfront, I turned and looked at the rocks, feeling that isolation and sadness with stark clarity. This was a sad and hard parting.

   

Rod and Mandy’s Home

The third site I selected was a proxy. For years, my mom had traveled to spend time at Rod and Mandy’s home. Usually this was at Christmas time. She was always warmly welcomed, even though she was not always an easy guest. Their home became her home. We celebrated her 50^th birthday at their home. We celebrated many Christmases and other occasions together. I introduced my now wife to the family in their home. Those are just my memories with her. She had dozens of others. However, Rod and Mandy had moved. Again, I didn’t think the owners of the old Kudu Street home would take kindly to some stranger sprinkling ashes in their garden.

 

I asked Rod and Mandy if I could spread ashes in their garden. There was a row of beautiful plants of pink and purple variety. I sprinkled them there. Rod read a few passages of Scripture reminding us of the resurrection, he prayed, and I shared how they had blessed my mom with a safe home to be herself and getaway. I thanked them for their generosity and sacrifice, because it wasn’t always easy. It never is when someone stays over often. If they are being real, there are struggles. Yet, through the struggles, they provided a home often. They loved her and she loved them. It was another home for her.

 

 

This time the emotions were of warmth and consolation. A peace and quiet settled on us as we took photos together and laughed and shared for a few moments. That sharing and laughter continued for the days I was there, in meals, in drives and in simple sharing. This was a place of peace and tranquility, even if it was a proxy to the Kudu Street home.

 

Barry and Cathy’s Home

The fourth site involved a trip to Durban. My mom had lived in Durban for a few years at this point. While she owned her own flat, she rented it out for extra income and, in turn, rented a room from a wonderful couple. As always, she had developed a group of friends that she enjoyed life with. One of those friends was Esme and Paul Rimmel. I had breakfast with them and they entertained me with stories of her escapades. She enjoyed them!

 

She also enjoyed reconnecting with her cousin, Barry and his wife Cathy. She stayed at their home at times too, enjoying their hospitality and love. She traveled with them a few times and together they cooked and ate as only Greeks can. It was another one of her homes.

 

They had arranged a lunch with their whole family: nine in all and me. We gathered on their upper deck and looked at their garden below. Wild garlic plants grew in one corner, in a bright splash of pink and purple. It was the perfect spot, looking out over the Umhlanga Bay view and all the way to the ocean. Another home. We gathered and I shared how they had loved her and blessed her, how she spoke of them with love and gratitude. I sprinkled the ashes as their three sons (my second cousins), Brett, Ryan and Sean gathered with me. It was a blessed time.

 

My emotions revolved through love, reconnection, and welcome. Again, there was warmth, but different from Rod and Mandy, warmth of new expansion for me, and wonderful learning of how mom had been cared for and loved by these distant but not so distant relatives. We had known each other from years ago. We had spent decades apart, but they had welcomed me like they did my mom: as though the separation had never happened. In each of these moments there was obviously grief. But grief doesn’t have to be negative. It doesn’t have to be devastating. It can be a sweet sorrow of real sadness but with reminders of God’s grace experienced through His people. This is what I was experiencing.

 

Battery Beach

 

The fifth site was Battery Beach. My family has a long history with Battery Beach. Rod and I had spent hours reminiscing about our Durban times. Mom had lived new Battery Beach as a young child and then later during teen years. The family had moved from different flats along the nearby roads for various reasons over the years. Later in life, my mom and I would live there again during my younger years. Battery Beach was our beach. I would often swim there. The iconic Blue Waters hotel is on the corner facing the beach, flanked by the Pirates Lifesaving Club. At one point, my grandfather had opened the Blue Waters Kiosk, a snack shack on the beach selling food, ice cream, drinks and other assorted goods.

 

The beach has changed dramatically since I was there, but the Blue Waters Hotel, the Lifesaving club and the homes we stayed in are still there. So is the kiosk, but it is now abandoned and run down. I searched the beach front for something pink or purple, but I could not find anything. So I made my way to the pier and huddled close to it. As the tide flowed in and out, I placed her ashes in a single pile and allowed the warm oceans of Durban to wrap around them and slowly draw them out to sea.

 

This was my final location of South African homes. I had kept one more pile of ashes to return to Boston with me, but this was the last in South Africa. I felt somber. Surrounded by memories of Durban, a time when we had been happiest together. I had only good memories of Durban, and had life played out differently, I would have grown up in Durban and lived in the ocean and at the beach. Sadly, still sadly to me to this day, we had to move to Johannesburg. I hated that move. So, laying my mom’s ashes at Battery Beach was a sober homage to a life I wished we had lived, a life I longed to have once again. It was a time of saying goodbye, to her, to my past, to my warmest childhood memories. It was so fitting that at this time, even though I had a family back home, a wider family in Durban and Cape Town, I was alone. That is what life with my mom was like for me. It was us against the world.

 

I don’t regret my life and I don’t wish the life and family I now have would be different. If anything, I am more passionately committed to them than ever. At this moment, though, I was able to consider, pray and remember by past and be thankful for it, even if it had changed trajectory from what I thought it might be as a youngster. After spreading her ashes I drove up and down the waterfront, remembering moments together. I visited the home we stayed in and remembered these deepest and fondest memories of home. This was the best home my mom and I had celebrated together – away from others. It was good for me…It may not have been good for her. Imagine a single mother, working long hours, caring for a young child. It must have been hard, heartbreaking and spine crushing hard. Yet, somehow, I felt none of that hardship. I felt only love and wonder then.

 

I cried at that pier as I said goodbye in prayer, word and finally silence.

 

Ashland

 

The final site for spreading my mom’s ashes was our home in Ashland, MA. My mom would love to visit. She would sit at the dining room table writing sermon notes, journal notes or just enjoying the time in her American home. Just outside here favorite sitting spot were two flower collections: one a deep purple, the other a wonderful splash of pink. It was the obvious spot. She would spend hours there and then, like many Greek mothers, she would end up in the kitchen, cooking meals filled with one common ingredient: love.

 

 

We gathered as a family, choosing to make time in an always overloaded schedule to pay respects and say goodbye. Our goodbye was not final. This is the promise of the resurrection and why there are no memorials or remains of my mom left. Her ashes are gone, but she is not gone. She is with Jesus, and all those of faith, will see her one day. They will see the amazing woman God created her to be, and she will be without the hardships or losses she endured in life. One day, I will gather with her, as will our family, and we will be together forever. This is the promise of the resurrection and the reason for spreading her ashes in all these places of home. Her ashes are spread in these earthly homes, but her spirit is in her heavenly home. And the great hope is that in the end, all will be reunited with Christ together.

 

I hope you will join in that faith, by accepting Jesus as Lord and Savior. It would honor my mother and would be something she would have prayed for you. Romans 10:9 simply says, if you declare with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised Jesus from the dead you will be saved. It’s belief in an event that has a promise. I hope you will join me in that belief, so that one day you can meet this extraordinary woman known as my mom.