Aquaman

I wondered what to watch on Netflix tonight and Aquaman came up.

Now this isn’t something I’d usually go for but the night Francesco’s ashes arrived home, we found ourselves wondering where to put them.

The family had suggested they go in the main living space.

I had suggested the bedroom cabinet, since they tended to watch TV there and slept in that room.

Maybe this way they would be out of sight for me or maybe it was just what they needed.

In any case they agreed.

So there we were in the bedroom with Fran’s ashes in a beautiful box.

For me they meant nothing.

When I found him that day and knew he was physically gone, the body meant nothing more to me.

It was a most defining moment in my life to realise the inadequacy of our bodies and that our soul and spirit live on, but for his parents this box meant a lot.

For them it contained their son’s body and his physical presence, I respected that.

That’s why at 10 pm I got into bed beside them and we all found ourselves watching Aquaman on TV.

It was like a scene from The Royale Family.

In some strange way I found this hilarious.

For no reason, so did they!

If Francesco were with us he’d have been laughing too.

There we were celebrating his arrival with an amphibious superhero caught in the trials of Atlantis.

Meanwhile his remains watched over us.

Watching this most ridiculous Hollywood blockbuster about a man with a tail, brought a sense of normality to the tragedy.

I don’t know why.

Maybe because Fran was a superhero of our own.

He too loved the sea.

A kind of Aquaman himself.

I remember we took a boat trip from Co Clare of the west coast of Ireland to the Aaran Islands.

We’d been warned boarding the small ferry that it might be rough.

Ever the one for adventure Fran said “Let’s go anyway.”

Whilst a Spanish family sat praying half way into the 30-minute trip he was having the time of his life atop the boat, watching the waves of the Atlantic Sea do their thing.

My family got off that boat as fast as they could, a few threw up and others ran for whiskey in the pub followed by mass to light some candles for the return trip.

Needless to say Fran didn’t need alcohol nor prayer to help him back, he simply enjoyed every moment of that boat ride….

Reminding us all there was nothing to fear, even in the midst of that harsh Atlantic tide.