Helen sat on the restaurant terrace overlooking the bay, waves lapping the pebbles. Raising her glass, she saluted the photograph upright on the table.
Memories flooded her mind, her first meeting with Paul in the bar across the road. Their honeymoon nearby. Bringing their children always to this beautiful oasis of peace, Keflos.
Today Helen had carried out Paul’s last wishes. The boat trip across to Nisyros, the stomach churning bus ride to the lip of the volcano, walking slowly down the path to the bed with its steaming vents, selecting one, pouring his ashes into it. Paul had joked on our first trip to the island that he would probably end up in hell, so putting his ashes into the volcano would be the perfect ending.
Life had been an adventure with him, never knowing where life would take us next. Travelling the world with his work. Children came along, his love of life was passed on to them, each thrilled with every new posting.
Our peaceful place was always Kos. Wandering along the beaches, going into the mountains the ruins, quiet villages, the food to die for.
Paul’s death had been an agonisingly slow, it broke my heart. Many long conversations about death and the afterlife. We planned his funeral and his wish for his ashes.
Helen wiped a tear away, feeling a weight lifting from her shoulders, sure he wouldn’t mind that she had only put half of his ashes there. The other half were in a small box buried in their neat back garden; being unable not to have a part of him close, so she could sit and talk to him when she wanted.
