The final challenge was not for the faint-hearted, as the water’s surface was choppy. The westerly wind and the ebb tide were at cross-purposes. The wind was pushing the water’s surface towards the shore, whilst the ebb tide was pulling it towards the Atlantic.
It wasn’t a particularly cold wind that blew in the participants’ faces. It was that typical Irish westerly wind – not really cold, but strong. The strong rays of sunshine were repeatedly blocked by white clouds. Because of the intense but cool wind, people weren’t prepared for sun protection. Risk of sunburn. Wearing a weatherproof jacket was certainly one thought; the upcoming event was the second and only real thought.
Regina and Johnny, Lilly’s sister and brother, her nieces Emma, Stacey and Nicole, her nephew Mark, her sister-in-law and brother-in-law Fiona and Mark, her two best friends Geraldine and Tommy, and I – with Lilly in the rucksack on my back – had all gathered together. Our skipper had chosen a boat designed for sightseeing trips, so that we could all sit in a semi-circle facing the direction of travel.
No sooner had we left the harbour than the water became choppy. Our attention, however, was focused on the first dolphins, which were to accompany us from the harbour onwards. Our skipper had names ready for them. You can recognise them by their fins, and they’re always here near the harbour, he explained, standing amongst us whilst the boat carried on almost of its own accord.
The further we moved away from the harbour and the shore, the more the boat rocked. The view of Galway served as a welcome distraction once again. None of us had ever seen the city like this before – it was a completely new and fascinating perspective. Now it was much easier to imagine how the Spanish traders must once have moored at the shore and made their way along ‘the long walk’ to the city gate. After rounding a small bend, we approached the Claddagh district, where Fiona and Johnny live with their family.
The wind and the ebb tide played off one another, with us right in the middle of it all. Heading further out into Galway Bay meant venturing further into the forces of nature. The water’s surface resembled a washboard, but the grooves were not evenly spaced. Just as the Irish rain has no regard for German order. It didn’t fall vertically, but sometimes in a zigzag, then horizontally again, then lashing down, then easing off briefly. Chaotic. Today, the surface of Galway Bay resembled this pattern, which doesn’t really exist. With a little imagination, you could make out thousands of seagulls circling us as they floated on the water.
Just like the dolphins. A total of three dolphins had gathered and were swimming alongside our boat in formation. Guarding us.
Then the skipper cut the engine and instantly caught our attention. Suddenly, we were back in the here and now. ‘Please, over here,’ he instructed, so that the ebb tide would carry the ashes out into Galway Bay.
Unscrew the lid of the urn, turn the urn round and let the ashes slowly drift into the water. Such was the hand movement that had been planned and practised for months. Fine white-grey ashes fell onto the surface of the water, swaying, bobbing on the waves, embraced by imaginary seagulls, also bobbing on the water. My niece Emma scattered a bouquet of flowers onto the ashes and the sea. It all lasted perhaps 15 seconds only, and yet it was so meaningful. The final wish in the will had been fulfilled.