The worms crawl in and the worms crawl out

Made my bi-monthly pilgrimage back to the place of my birth today, to visit my hairdresser. Craig has been cropping my mop on and off for over 20 years and I trust him implicitly. Indeed he was the one, a few years ago, who convinced me to ditch the straighteners and embrace my curly self. I've never looked back!

I also paid my somewhat less regular visit to the cemetery. My mum's ashes are interred here, just behind the camera, in the same plot as her parents. But not my dad - after his heart attack, and moreso once they moved to Knaresborough, my dad would spend hours walking, so we scattered his ashes along one of his favourite routes.

Anyway, as far as I'm aware, my auntie and uncle and me are the only ones who visit. And it got me to thinking. Once they're gone, and I'm gone, no-one will tend that grave, and it'll go to seed like so many others around it.

So, when I die I don't want a funeral. I don't want to be buried. I don't want a headstone in a graveyard. I don't have any children who will mourn me and place flowers on my grave - at first every week, then eventually on particular occasions like my birthday, mothers day or the anniversary of my death. Cremate me, then scatter my ashes somewhere lovely.

The only mark I'd hope to leave on shuffling off this mortal coil is in the hearts of those I love, and who love me. And that's enough.

x

Note to self, must try to convince hairdresser to move over my way...