I’ve been reluctant to contribute my own thoughts to this website, perhaps because although it is about Lawrence, it is as important for Elly and her journey through the labyrinth of grieving, and I haven’t wanted to intrude. Having just read Elly’s recent contribution about our little ceremony of remembrance on what would have been Lawrence’s 40th birthday I felt it was time for me to make a contribution. Whatever a family has experienced, a death of a child is always the most distressing and life changing. Another bereaved mother spoke about her son’s death as the hinge that connected the two parts of her life, one side of the hinge life before his death and the other, life afterwards. It took me some time to understand the truth of that. We all grieve differently, but it is a continuous process that never ends, and I am glad that Elly is finding her way to express her grief and remember Lawrence. Why Marloes, why Pembrokeshire? I fell in love with the area after spending a week in Dale on a geography field trip when I was in the 6th form. I always planned to return and did so in the early 80’s with Lawrence when we camped at Marloes. On the first evening we walked to Martin’s Haven where the boat to Skomer leaves. Lawrence skipped about the beach, poking the pebbles, searching the rock pools and generally messing about at the sea’s edge. I remember feeling happy that he was happy and carefree and that memory has remained strong and vital. Another memory of that holiday is one of Lawrence coming across the open field of the campsite towards me in the tent, holding aloft loads of mackerel he had caught on a fishing trip. He was so proud, pleased and happy. Lawrence loved the sea, being on it, in it and near it, and that is why it felt right to scatter his ashes on the sea. It was a beautiful sunny day, I carried his ashes and Elly carried a huge bunch of daffodils that we had picked in his grandfather’s garden in Ducklington. We walked to Martin’s Haven and stood apart from the group of tourists who were waiting to board the boat. It felt odd to be part but not part of this group of humans, our reasons for being there so vastly different. I can’t remember the trip to the island, but once the tourists had disembarked, we were on our own with the crew, who slowly turned the boat around and took us to a sheltered spot near the coast and stopped. It seems odd to say scattered, when in fact we poured Lawrence’s ashes into the sea and then topped them with the daffodils, a huge floating mass of yellow. The boat moved off and I remember standing looking at the spot of yellow in the sea slowly diminishing as we drew further away. The beauty of the scenery, the cliffs, the sea, the bright spring sunshine and the patch of daffodils remains a beautiful and poignant memory. I’ve been back to Pembrokeshire several times over the years since then, but this year was the first time that Elly and I decided to commemorate that day in a specific way. The grieving process is never straightforward and it can take time to decide on how to remember times that are essentially full of pain and sorrow. Life after the hinge takes over, family, relationships, grandchildren, other losses, jobs, retirement, so planning for this day did not go entirely smoothly, especially because I had careered on without consulting Elly and made assumptions about her plans. Fortunately Elly generously tolerated my insensitivity, we repaired the damage and created our ‘remembering.’ Sadly we could not gather the daffodils in Ducklington as before, but we managed to get hold of some. We drove to Martin’s Haven, to be met by a sign telling us there would be no sailing today, the weather was too bad, and it was. We stood on the little shaky jetty looking out to sea battered by wind and rain, such a contrast to the last time we were here together, but it was alright and appropriate in a way, the place is still beautiful whatever the weather. We dropped the daffodils into the sea below us and watched as the waves drew them out to sea. The individual spots of yellow danced off in front of us and we watched them until we couldn’t see them anymore. The sound of the sea and the wind felt soothing to me and what we had done felt an important expression of remembrance as well as a visual symbol of letting go of sadness; and so we returned to the others waiting for us.