@give_seek
I don’t know if this is normal, but when my mother died, I held on to some of her ashes and a lock of her hair. My father was inordinately cruel in not letting me take many of her belongings (including jewelry she had intended me to have) and the few things she did give me, were stolen during a home invasion while I was living in Ecuador.
In the months after her death, I would sometimes take out the little ziplock bag of her ashes or hair and just hold them and cry. It seems strange and morbid even now but it did make me a little better to just “be” with her in some way and cry. (I’m actually getting choked up as I write this.)
My controlling, abusive ex made me throw out her cremains but I was fortunate to be able to get some more of her back from a family friend when I came back to the US. Since then, I keep her cremains on top of my wine rack overlooking the NYC skyline. I don’t know any other 27-year-olds who have cremains in their living room, but I’ve been enjoying taking some of her with me every time I travel and scattering her in a beautiful spot. So far, she’s in the Pacific Ocean, on an Ecuadorian volcano, in the Medittereanan off the Amalfi coast and the Caribbean off of Saint Lucia. I hope to add Cambodia to or Thailand the list soon!
(Sorry if that was a long explanation)
One of the most poignant descriptions of grief I’ve read recently is this mother’s article about losing her 14-month-old son. I’ll warn you, it’s visceral and not an easy read but you may find it helpful for you novel.
http://www.mamamia.com.au/grieving-a-child/