Phil’s Phil’ fond f d farewell at 32,000ft! ,
My hubby deserved a send-off that was out of this world... Jak Robson, 67, Hassocks
Sticking a thick, fake moustache above his lip, my husband Phil, 61, turned to me and waggled his eyebrows. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘What do you reckon?’ I burst out laughing. With his billowing green shirt, long white hair and pointy hat, he looked every inch the perfect pirate.
‘The girls will love it,’ I squealed.
Our granddaughters Daisy, 10, and Letty, 6, lived with us, along with our daughter Ayng, 44, and her husband Robert, 46.
One big happy family.
So when Daisy requested a pirates and princesses birthday party in November 2013, Phil had really thrown himself into it.
Typical!
Married 47 years, I’d never seen anything get in Phil’s way.
Not even the progressive lung illness he’d been battling since 2012.
Hippies at heart, we still took the whole family to music festivals every year.
Phil was the master costume planner, working on them weeks in advance.
We’d seen in Phil’s 60th at Shambala Festival
– he’d handed out celebratory free drinks to revellers, dressed in a tutu. My Phil, ever the eccentric. But in April 2017, his lung condition caught up with him. The doctors gave Phil just weeks. It took everything I had not to fall apart. Phil took the news in his stride, as usual, but his face was pale and breathing ragged. Squeezing my hand, he looked at me, eyes twinkling with mischief. ‘I don’t want a funeral. Just put me in a rocket and shoot me into space,’ he laughed. Phil’s friends came from all over the world for one last chat. He hid any fear he had about the end behind a warm smile. And as the time neared, he made
me promise not to hold a funeral for him. ‘It would just upset the girls,’ he explained. I nodded, too choked to speak. In October 2017, Phil was admitted for hospice care and passed away, aged 65. Honouring his wishes, we didn’t hold a funeral, just a private cremation. ‘What shall we do with the ashes?’ Ayng asked one evening. ‘Scatter them in places he loved,’ I replied. Gradually, Ayng, Daisy, Letty and I scattered some of Phil’s ashes in his favourite spots. The river where he used to fish, a tree he loved sitting under. I kept the rest in my wardrobe. A comfort to have him near. Then, in the November,
a close family friend, Nathan, 45, called.
He’d thought of Phil as a second dad.
‘I’ve had an idea,’ he said nervously, ‘and you’ll probably think I’m totally mad, but...’
As he explained how we could send Phil’s ashes into space, a smile broke out across my face.
Phil had always been fascinated by space. He’d even run an astronomers’ club at the special-needs school where he worked.
The more I heard, the more perfect it was.
Nathan had been researching helium-filled weather balloons and learnt they rise to the edge of the atmosphere before popping.
‘Phil would’ve loved that!’ I agreed.
Over the next month, Nathan worked out we needed £700 for the balloon and camera equipment.
Determined, we created a Justgiving page to raise the funds.
I posted on Facebook and told our friends and family about our plans – Phil would be scattered among the stars.
Donations rolled in, and we blasted past our target within an hour. Overall, we raised £2,000.
We donated the extra money to St Peter & St James Hospice, where Phil had spent his final days. Now, we just had to wait for a gentle westerly wind. Every Wednesday, Nathan received a detailed weather forecast from a special computer in Cambridge, and we clung to our mobiles, waiting to hear if our mission was a go. Finally, in August 2018, we got the call. ‘The weather will be perfect on Friday,’ Nathan said. The whole family gathered in a field next to our house. We inflated the balloon that would carry Phil’s ashes to 32,000ft, and attached picture of Phil in his pirate costume from Daisy’s party in front of the camera. After a few words and reading from Ayng, we counted down.
Five...four... three...two...one!
‘Goodbye, G Grandad!’ Daisy a and Letty sh shouted as N Nathan let the b balloon go. As it faded to a white dot, tears ro rolled down our cheeks. Soon, photos from the ca camera on the balloon began to come through to the laptop. The views were breathtaking. The last shot showed Phil hovering between Earth and space. Then the balloon popped, scattering his ashes among the stars. We’re still searching for the camera equipment that fell back to earth from a parachute. But overall, the whole thing was a huge success. Now, whenever I look at the starry night sky, I know Phil really is up there, looking down on us all.
Phil would be scattered among the stars