A reader writes:
I thought I’d share what I do with my mom’s ashes. My two sisters and I each took a portion, and I have taken "Mom" quite a few places. She always wanted to see Jersey Boys on Broadway, but didn’t quite make it. We went in her stead, and sprinkled a tiny bit of her in the theater during "Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You." She loved to travel, so I take her with me on trips – "Mom" has been to Amsterdam, Germany, and Ireland, where the lovely boat operator in the Lakes of Killarney at the Gap of Dunloe encouraged us to sprinkle a bit of her in the lake: "No better resting place, if you ask me." I’m not sure I believe in heaven, but I do believe that our spirits live on – and I like thinking that Mom can continue to share experiences with me and my family.
Another shares a different perspective:
As an atheist, I used to look down on traditional interment as a religious ritual that was both impractical and unnecessary. I made a lot of the same points Beato made in his article and went further, insisting that headstones weren’t really even for the dead, but for the people they left behind.
I began to rethink those positions when I started doing my family’s history a couple of years ago. I visited many graves with my mother and sister, often painstakingly searching through cemeteries with ill-defined sections and plot number. Some graves were of people we knew personally. Some weren’t. It didn’t matter. We always felt moved to come to areas where a relative was laid to rest.
I found it caused me to appreciate my family and this time I’ve got to live. It also strengthened my sense of identity and place. I felt these are my people and here is where they are. I just don’t think you can get that with ashes scattered in the wind.
The Dish 