A Resting Place

On the first weekend of September, 2008, my Father was given his proper burial. He had always made it clear–very clear–that he wanted to be cremated. Sentences like “I’m not gonna sit a box for eternity. That’d be ridiculous,” were his favorites whenever the subject would come up. But in all the years of his bantering on about the silliness of traditional burials, he forgot to tell us what step 2 should be. Step 1–no problem–cremation, but then what? This was the predicament facing my family in the aftermath of his death. It was important to us that his ashes be buried in a place that meant something to him–somewhere special. We thought about scattering his ashes throughout the UVA campus, but the idea of drunk coeds tromping over them (even if Dad would have found that amussing) took away the appeal. We also thought about burrying the ashes is Haddonfield, but what if we moved? After much discussion back and forth, we finally picked Hovey Manor, an Inn where we had vacationed often as a family over the years.

Hovey Manor sits on beautiful Lake Massawippi. It’s a place that my Father loved coming to–a chance to relax, eat well, have a few good drinks, and enjoy a bit of nature. For me too, it’s a place filled with so many happy memories. It was on that lake that my Dad first taught me how to use a canoe–something that ended in wet clothes and lost glasses, but a crucial stage in my development nevertheless.  It was also in the lounge of Hovey Manor that my Dad first taught me to play chess, and it quickly became a special bond between us. The game that so intensely bored my Mom and Brother could entertain Dad and I for hours.

So it was here, in a place that meant so much to us all, that we decided to lay Dad’s ashes to rest. We woke up early on Saturday morning and gathered at the docks. Drew and I snapped our life jackets shut, climbed into our kayaks and paddled out to the middle of the lake. There between our canoes, we said a prayer and let my Father go.