‘My husband’s ashes are still unscattered, but we’re doing OK’


Poppy, the youngest, is nearest to me, and she makes it into my arms. Bear keeps paddling, but the current keeps pushing her away. There she goes again, under, and up, and under, and I signal to her to keep her hand up in the air, and a wave pushes Poppy and me towards the jagged rocks. And it seems that we could be safe here – if we could scramble up, we’d be all right, but we’re pummelled, over and over, beaten against the rocks. I try to put my body between Poppy and the sharp edges, try to lift her over my head and on to the rock shelf, but I’m not strong enough, and Bear has disappeared from view.


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