This past weekend my sisters and I flew out to Tampa to attend my grandmother’s funeral or, more to the point, to help spread my grandparents’ ashes.
My grandfather died almost exactly a year ago and he and my grandmother had requested that they be cremated and their ashes spread together at the golf course that was the ‘other woman’ in their marriage for thirty years. Specifically, at the only hole he’d ever made a hole-in-one on.
The only problem with this was that golf course wasn’t too keen on having the charred remains of dead bodies spread across its greens. Go figure. So we had to sneak in under the cover of darkness (okay, dusk) and covertly spread them without being seen.
Picture, if you will, a group of nine (dad, sisters, me, and my aunt and her family) walking in staggered formation down a golf course after sunset, nonchalantly chucking ashes as they strolled, keeping an ever-alert eye out for trouble.
It was all very exciting.
