My dad always told me that he wanted to be buried ‘at home’ in Norway. He also made it very clear that it would be my duty to fulfil his last wish.
On a few earlier occasions dad and I jokingly discussed how I would carry out this ‘last wish’ of his. Dad had suggested that I “put him in my pocket”. I can just imagine how it would go down: “No honestly officer, I don’t take drugs and you shouldn’t do a taste test because it really is my dad’s remains you’re licking there……”
Not to mention airport security since 9/11. What does cremated ashes look like in X-ray vision anyway? Well, I was about to find out.
Airport security and terrorists aside – I was adamant to return my father’s ashes to the family grave yard so I did the necessary enquiries. It turned out to be a lot easier than I first had anticipated.
The children were a little confused as to how a person as big as ‘bestefar‘ (grandad) could fit into such a small jar (try explaining ‘cremation’ to an 8 year old and he’ll look at you as if you’re a pyromaniac!).
Ryanair had advised that the urn should be in the cabin hold with us – it just had to be sufficiently packaged in case of breakage. Apparently people don’t like the thought of breathing in cremated ashes (you don’t say!).
Hubby found a plastic box that could seal tightly and a roll of bubble wrap and two rolls of duck tape later – we were ready to go. I had the special documentation to wave at the customs should there be any problems.
My children became even more concerned that I might have lost my mind when I insisted on putting poor bestefar into a gym bag but they limited themselves to giving me the occasional suspicious glance.
Being the last day of the European school holidays – Alicante airport was chaotic. Keeping track of an excited two year old, a hyper eight year old and a psychopathic twelve year old who wants to beat his brother to death – makes it even more exciting.
Security check point at Alicante airport. At this point I was so stressed that I had forgotten all about bestefar in the gym bag wrapped up in duck tape.
We stripped down to our knickers on the one side only to frantically dig for our close on the other side – baby girl was rolling on the floor and her brother decided to join her. I found myself apologising to the people who were tripping over them when hubby grabbed me and whispered: “problem… you better take this one…”
The Security dude behind baggage x-ray started unpacking bestefar but for some or other reason he suddenly froze with a look of terror in his eyes (I recall a twitching eyelid).
Suddenly four police officers appeared out of nowhere.
There was such a weird vibe in the air that I expected the bomb squad to arrive at any minute.
I handed him the documentation from the Crematorium and the Norwegian Embassy.
I had no idea what security dude was asking but I preyed like hell that he wasn’t about to unwrap besterfar – there was a serious amount of duck tape involved. Besides, I kinda had it in my mind that besterfar would be resting in peace during the necessary journey with helpful grandchildren wanting to carry him every five seconds.
Next minute there was a flurry of apologies and said security dude went down on his hands and knees whilst begging my forgiveness. He seemed distraught that he had even dared to unzip the vessel of the resting. The four uniforms vanished.
That was pretty much it. We arrived home with bestefar in one piece (well, you get what I’m saying).
Now I just have to wait for the ground to defrost so that we can finally lay him to rest. The lady at the church seemed a little concerned that I want to keep a dead person with me for the next three months but I assured her that my dad is a friendly ghost. Besides – I enjoy talking to him – it makes me feel better.
She didn’t seem to appreciate my sense of humour.
