Laying Dad To Rest (4/22)

I took the black velvet bag containing the carved bamboo box with my father's remains and set it on the bed. Next to it, I set a small bamboo tube container, which would later be used to take a small portion to England. On this day, the primary burial box would be taken to Belfast City Cemetery. I sat on the bed, looking at it. 

Since my dad died in January of 2024, I have had his remains in our house in an urn on the mantle because I could not decide what would seem right. One morning it hit me, he belongs in Northern Ireland.

For months, Stephani and I have been discussing the arrangements with the city of Belfast.  Proving family lineage, applying for the necessary permission, and arranging payment, which came down to the 11th hour before our flight on Thursday. Stephani has done all of the legwork.  No exageration on the amount of red tape to bury someone here.

I placed the box into a Marks & Spencer bag, tied a scarf around the handle, and took a bus together to the cemetery, stopping at a local flower shop on the Falls Road. While we waited for the order, I noticed the murals on the walls of the houses, which appeared to be in a Catholic area. 

At the cemetery, we met two workers who helped us pour about a cup into the bamboo tube. We handed them the box for placement in the grave. Stephani laid a bouquet of flowers at one end of the plot.  

The men stepped away so we could say goodbye. I explained to Dad that I thought he would appreciate having the spirits of his family around and hearing the sound of the birds and the people who go jogging in the morning. It seemed like a better place. He is a son of Northern Ireland. I told him we would be back to visit him again when we are in Northern Ireland. We said goodbye. 

The men thanked us and filled in the grave.  Stephani did a facetime call with her Mom while we walked back to the bus stop. 

Back to Bustling Belfast

After the burial, we wanted to do something that felt normal, so we went to a local laundrette to do a small load of laundry. Spin City has to be one of the artyest laundrettes we have been in. It has lots of fantastic artwork. 

The John Hewitt Blew It

We wanted to get together for dinner with Uncle Norman and Laurie one last time, so we picked a place in the city center. The John Hewitt appeared to have good reviews, or so it seemed. We arrived slightly early and waited for our table. After we were seated, it took a long time for the waitress to come by. When we spotted her, we asked for some menus, to which she pointed at an orange sheet in a tent card holder on the table. 

This photo was taken after the laughter had died down, and it was around 7:30pm.  Our food would not arrive until almost 8:30, or 8:45 after repeated inquiries.  When we asked for another bottle of water, it never arrived.  When I asked for some additional ice for my room-temperature Coke, I was told to just go up to the bar and get it because she was busy clearing the tables.  I mean, it was astonishingly bad service.  The food was so so, nothing to write home about, so I really shouldn't be giving it space here on my blog, but I thought you should all be aware how badly The John Hewitt pub blew it. 

Laurie and Norman were great company as always, and we talked about the burial, filling them in on all of the details. It was pouring down with rain by the time we were ready to get back to the hotel so they drove us back.  And that was the last night in Belfast, we stayed up about an hour after that packing for the get away to London, where I write this now. 

Belfast is a great place to be home

Each time we visit Belfast we feel perfectly at home. Strangers we bump into and chat with are all very approachable and kind. We had a delightful conversations with a random worker this morning waiting for our Uber, told us his life story and inquired all about us, what drew us here. Spoke to him about all of those wonderful abandoned loft properties downtown and who might own them. His thoughts? "Eh, they probably just don't need the money."  Or when we were talking to our Uber driver on the way to the airport and sharing about our family connection to the Titanic. Telling us he was getting goosebumps on his arm thinking about it. People love the conversation, and I think this is the thing that stands out about Belfast. People are interested in people and what makes them tick.  California. Not so much.   

Here are a few more photos from the day.