I suppose everyone's way of dealing with the pain is different. For me it was to immerse myself in the things that were most part of my son. It was his words - his poems, journals, letters; videos and photographs of him; his things; his friends; the places he'd been to. There was something of him in all of these - they had all been touched in some way by him and he was still a part of them. Also we planted trees in his memory, with his ashes at their roots - in the garden, in the park. We scattered his ashes in the places he'd loved. We had a bench erected where we could sit and look at the trees growing strong. On significant dates we usually take a picnic to his bench and sit there eating and talking of happy times. In fact we talk of him often. His ashes may be buried, but he is not.