Final arrangements

I finally bit the bullet and decided it was time to get the plaque for Al’s grave. So, a few months ago, when my ex-husband called for his Sunday chat with our daughter I told him of my plans and asked if he would like to share the decisions re the wording and the cost. I explained that I was more than happy to do it all myself but, if he wanted to share with me, I was equally happy to do that. He agreed and said that was something he wanted. Bearing in mind his zero contribution to the funeral costs, I made it clear that his money wasn’t necessary – we could still decide together on the wording - but if he wanted to make a financial contribution, the money must come from him and him alone. I felt that this was a job for Al’s parents and no one else. He assured me that would happen. Frankly, I’d rather he’d left it to me but Al loved his dad and he would want him to play a part in making that decision.

I told him the costs. They were in no way prohibitive. The rules of the burial ground are precise. We are strictly limited to a small rectangle of slate or stone and then each letter carved will cost £2.

His immediate reaction was, “Well we don’t want too many letters then.” I bit my tongue and ignored it.

I’d had time to mull over the wording and he wanted to know my thoughts so I told him.

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Alexander Richard Cameron-Young

26 November 1991 ~ 30 May 2009

Beautiful Boy

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I said that those were just my initial thoughts and therefore open to discussion but I wanted something that made it Al’s, and Al’s alone. Each time I’d read an epitaph it seemed so apt, but they all seemed so hackneyed and I wanted something that was individual and summed Al up. I felt that my wording did this but asked what he thought. I wondered if it needed a fourth line – Always in our hearts/Gone but never forgotten/Loved and missed etc. He said he’d mull it over and get back to me.

A week or so later, I asked if he’d had any thoughts. He said, “Yes - we’ve discussed it and we feel that we’d prefer to lose his middle name and his dates could be numbers rather than words. And we aren’t too keen on Beautiful Boy but we can’t think of anything else so it will be OK. "

Excuse me?  

**we've** discussed it?

I bristled at the first ‘we’ as I knew this meant him and his wife. This was the woman who my boy hated with a passion – the woman who made my lad’s life so miserable that he self-harmed. When I closed the lid on his coffin, those scars on my boy’s arms were the last thing I saw. It was never, ever her decision to make. I bit my tongue and chose not to respond – mainly because I didn’t trust myself to respond in any kind of coherent manner. Clearly he thought it perfectly reasonable to involve this woman in deciding what should be written on my son’s grave. I remember thinking, “ It might end up over my dead body, but I’ll be damned before I see it over my son’s.”

Oblivious to my stomach churning, he repeated it. They felt that there was no need for Al’s middle name and the letters in the date should be replaced by numbers. Oh and they didn’t think that Beautiful Boy was quite right. I interrupted saying that he was a beautiful boy so I thought it was apt. He said they couldn’t think of anything else that was as short so it would do.

I realised that the changes suggested were simply made to reduce the number of digits - it was no more than a cost-cutting exercise. He would never ever buy another birthday or Christmas present for Al. He would never take him for a pint at his local pub. He would never have to spend anything on Al ever again but he was penny pinching over the plaque for his grave. He ended the conversation with, “But you can have whatever you want.”

He hasn’t mentioned it since then. Not once. I guess he’s worried that I’ll raise the subject of shared costs. I won’t. When my son’s plaque is placed on his grave, I shall do it alone – without his father’s involvement. I tried to involve him and felt that my son’s memory was just insulted – by the man my boy adored above all others.

He made so few visits to see the children after he settled with his current wife and her children. Al was incredibly hurt by what he saw as his dad’s rejection of him. He craved his dad’s love and affection and never stopped yearning for it. And that love wasn’t even valued. It was barely even acknowledged.

And now - it's just so sad.

I don’t believe in any kind of afterlife. Well, when I try to think about it, I can’t see how it could be possible. But I have mixed feelings about whether I want it to be. Do I yearn for the chance to see my boy again? Yes – more than anything.

But if there is an afterlife – if he can see ...  it tears me apart to think of how must he feel to know that his dad was more concerned about saving a few quid than bothering about what should mark his final resting place. For that reason, I hope there is no afterlife. At least Al would be spared knowing that.

And I still haven’t made those final arrangements. But I will.