'Make sure you spread them within a year' the Morticia like crematarian women said. No shit - she had long black hair, sleek black outfit, serious composure, and bright red lipstick against pale skin. 'And if you're going to do them at the beach, make sure you wear sensible footwear'. My sister, Mum and I bit our tongues as she proceeded to give this life long beach going family and the dead man-as-ashes in the cardboard tube beach going advice, including watching the wind wasn't blowing onshore or that we wouldn't throw our father's remains in the path of ongoing joggers. Notes taken, Morticia.

Dad's still in the tube.

The tube is meant to be opened at a particular beach he chose himself. We’re at the point where we’re ready, I think. Even Mum is ready. It’s just getting everyone together and picking a day that actually works, which sounds simple but somehow isn’t - people work, and I have genuine concerns about one relative even making it down the beach stairs. Then there is the weather - we're deep in Autumn now, and it's rather unpredictable.

I went down there the other day with Jamie. I wanted to get the lay of the land a little, see what he was thinking.

I’ve been pn this beach many times before - it's a wilder beach, the beach more undulating and harder to walk, but it's quieter, and I have many memories walking with lovers and friends and dogs, surfing at the other end (which seemed always harder to get to), beach parties, fossicking, sunbaking.

^{Coastal saltbush}

There are plenty of beaches along this stretch of coast. Some are easier, some are more obvious, some would probably be the “normal” choice. But he picked this one that you go down a set of stairs to, and it opens out into this wide stretch of sand that’s usually fairly empty. You can see the town off in the distance - the one I live in - but it doesn’t really feel like part of it.

^{Terrible photo - it's with the phone zoom - but this is part of the town where I live, visible from this beach.}

Funny Dad never knew we moved to that town - I wish he did. But I'll be able to see this point and this beach from the cliffs and surf break where I live. His spirit, right there.

He said to Mum that he liked the idea of his ashes spread here because it was quieter, especially on weekends when everyone comes down from Melbourne. That sounds like him. Not wanting anything too busy or too obvious. He never wanted a paddle out like some surfers get. Too showy.

I’ve actually been there with him before, not long before he died - I wrote a Hive post about it here. We went down and there was this huge hailstorm that came in out of nowhere. It just smashed through while we were on path to the beach - a miracle he'd made it that far, given the amount of breath in his lungs. Dad's eyes were sparking. His last adventure. I’ve still got photos from that day.

Standing there now felt a little sad - nothing crippling, just a bit of quiet. Even Jamie felt it. I do love this place so much, and can see why Dad felt this was the place to spread his ashes. Nothing about the place has changed. The stairs, the way the beach opens, the water. But just knowing we'd spread his ashes here and this was the last beach adventure he ever had spread a layer over the top of it, a layer of poignancy I suppose, or the veil being thinner.

He's already part of this landscape really - we don't need to spread his ashes to know that.

I dreamt about him the other day, and every time I do I spend half the dream trying to work out how he’s suddenly back - how they've reanimated him, or how he's broken some death life rules to be here. It's the scientist in me I suppose. Like there must be some explanation for it and I’ve just missed something.

In the dream I’m always a bit stuck on that, trying to make sense of it, while still just talking to him normally. He's so present in these dreams and I need to stop analysing it and just enjoy his company. I did tell him we'd moved to the coast and he was pretty happy about it. It doesn’t feel strange in the moment, just afterwards when I wake up.

^{This is the little nook at one end of the beach we're going to have a fire and farewell Dad. Nice thinking, Dad.}

It’s not absence exactly - people say they're still there, although I do struggle with the well meaning of that. It’s more like he’s still there but not in the same way, and my brain keeps trying to fix that.

I'm kinda talking to him on the beach, can hear him saying: 'see, good spot hey? Told ya' - and I can see it's perfect and I'm agreeing with him, and we're both waxing lyrical about the colour of the sky, the horizon, the red cliffs against the water. Like father like daughter. And I know I'm talking to myself, and whatever 'spirit' is there is just my memory of him, my sense of him, but it's all I've got.

^{Jamie misses him too. He was a father to him.}

Maybe I'll fell better when he's swirling around in the water, moving in and out with the tide. For now it’s just something that’s still ahead of us. We’re ready, it just hasn’t lined up yet.