Anyone who knew John well, knows that he was obsessed with collecting little boxes. We got them from all over the world and at Christmas Tree shop as well.
I have been giving them away as little keepsakes of John and am now down to about a dozen.
Sally wanted a small amount of ash to bury in the family plot with his mother and other members of the family.
We offered one of John's boxes as a container to bury them in. Sally chose one from San Gimignano...One of our favorite places in Italy, or anywhere for that matter.
The urn was already filled when we got it, but the funeral home had reserved a small amount of ash in a Tupperware container. Anyone want a Tupperware container?
Anyway, not all of them would fit in the box. We were left with a few tablespoons left over.
I had vowed I would not open the urn again. It was just too disconcerting to see John reduced to that. I almost passed out the first time.
So, despite the decision to hold the urn till Harry and I can go into it with John, and then be scattered in the Mediterranean(or perhaps a Club Med!? John would love that!)
I wanted to scatter the last of the ashes in Provincetown.
When I first met John it was in Provincetown. It was June 7th, just two days after his birthday, and a few days after quitting his job at the bank. John soon had a small apartment just a couple of streets in from the town landing. It was convenient enough that we spent a lot of early mornings there on the beach. It is not the most attractive beach in the area, but we had a connection.
So, this past Saturday was June 7th, the anniversary of the day we met, the anniversary of exchanging our commitment rings, and exactly one month after John died. I threw Harry in the truck, and we drove out to Provincetown with the Tupperware container.
I walked up and down the street in front of my old shop, and found a couple of friends from long ago at Paws and Whiskers. Then we went over to the beach.
Harry had not been on the leash much in the last few years, and because he was so excited to be there, it was a real pain to deal with him. He had to get into the water, but it was a bit too calm for him. There were no waves to chase and bark at. Still, he enjoyed fouling me up in the leash and scampering in and out of the water.
I found the place where we took so many photos in the past, of sunrises and sea gulls, boats pulled up on the beach and of each other in the early morning.
I asked a couple of young women if they would take a couple of photos. They thought is was rather strange at first, but when they heard what I was doing, they took these pictures with almost as many tears in their eyes as I had. Harry was in his own little world.
I dug a little depression in the damp sand where the water met the shore, and poured the ashes in. I covered them with wet sand, thinking that the incoming tide would disperse the ashes into the sea, as John wanted for all of his ashes when we are all together again.
The rest of his ashes will have to wait till Harry and I join him.
It is a beautiful spot despite its commercial nature and now I have one more memory of the beach at Provincetown.
I love you and miss you John.
Mi mancherai, Giovanni mio.