At Rest In Barachois
Mary had said that when she died she wanted a party, an Irish wake. Quite by accident, mom got exactly what she wanted.
Mary had said that when she died she wanted a party, an Irish wake. Quite by accident, mom got exactly what she wanted.
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SubscribeMary had always said that when she died she wanted a party — like an Irish wake or a good old fashioned kitchen party. Spending a fortune on a dull church funeral, everybody in black, grey and sombre, was not mom’s style. Mom wanted us to celebrate her life rather than mourn her death, but after she died a cheerful celebration seemed impossible; we were all miserable, angry and heartbroken…how could we celebrate?
Quite by accident, mom ended up getting exactly what she wanted. Well, minus the Guinness.
Mom died in April of 2023. While I live in Newfoundland, my siblings live out West and they returned to NL shortly before mom died. It wasn’t the right time to scatter her ashes, it was all too raw.
My fellow littermates returned to Newfoundland the following July. The plan was to scatter mom’s ashes at Barachois Pond Provincial Park...not that it was much of a plan, we had no idea what else we should do that day; this was definitely not a stage-managed memorial.
Why Barachois? It was her happy place; mom was happier at Barachois in a camper full of kids than she was in her own house. Camping was fun, camping was freedom. When we were taking care of mom, before we realized her cancer was too far gone to be treatable, she kept saying how much she was looking forward to introducing her young grandsons to Barachois that coming summer.
We had a small window of opportunity to scatter mom’s ashes. In addition to my siblings, several cousins were visiting and wanted to be present and pay their respects. We had only 1 day that worked for everyone’s schedule. On the day we scattered mom’s ashes at Barachois, we woke up to RDF: rain, drizzle and fog. I swore on it, the whole thing. A miserable day to mark a death that had come too soon.
As we drove from Corner Brook, through the Long Range Mountains, the dark clouds spat on us.
When we arrived at Barachois the cousins and aunties were already there. We congregated at the playground so the youngsters would be busy while we all chatted; some of us hadn’t seen each other in many years, some young relatives were being met for the first time.
As we sat (and swung), the rain faded, the wind blew at the dark clouds until they drifted apart and away from us, and it turned into a gorgeous, sunny, summer's day. I had forgotten what a beautiful place Barachois is.
We were able to turn the somber event into an afternoon of teaching the grandkids to swim - in the exact place mom had first taught all of us to swim. Amazingly, the day became fun and a little healing…mom got what she wanted.
This was the best way to remember mom, to honour her.
Mom's default settings were optimism, hope and joy — no matter what else was happening in her world. Every time we visit the park now I'm reminded of that.