The article ‘My Watch’ listed here under Short Reads, is the true story of the day my father died. He chose to let go of his grasp on life whilst it was my turn to sit with him in his hospital bed. He had been in a drug-induced coma for a little while and it was hard just sitting with him every day waiting for him to die. This is the story of the day he gave me a message that he had safely reached the other side.
The day of my father’s funeral was one of the worst days of my life, mainly because I had had a huge argument with my mother over the arrangements. My mother and I were very, very close – telepathically so at times. We never disagreed, but anyone who knew my parents understood they were very different. My father was a ‘socialiser’ and my mother was a ‘home maker’. I felt awful about the row because I had walked out of the small meeting to discuss the funeral arrangements and it was a week before my mother and I made up. She agreed to accept that my father would have wanted a wake to follow the cremation and that his friends should be invited.
The day went well – I can honestly say I can’t remember anything at all about the service and cremation because I was in a state of shock, I couldn’t hold back the tears or the pain. I am a people person but am actually quite shy, so I wasn’t really looking forward to the wake. I knew it was going to be down to me to be the social one and wasn’t sure I was strong enough to get through it, even in tribute to my father. However, I find myself being sought out by each of his friends, all wanting to sit me down and tell me an amusing story about my father. I laughed until I nearly cried, but it wasn’t from sadness but in celebration of the man he had been. People who knew him will understand that. When my husband and I arrived home with just my youngest brother accompanying us, I felt unsettled. Not least because my younger brother had flown in from the States, having missed my father’s passing and that had been difficult for him. But I also still felt guilty about having fallen out with, and upsetting, my mother in order to do something I thought my father would want. A bit like choosing one over the other – but I knew that was the last thing I intended, I just firmly believed my father wanted the wake and I had simply done what he wanted.
The three of us decided to go for a quiet meal in a county pub and talk. My brother was still in denial, he told us it didn’t seem real to him and I suggested the two of them go and have a quiet beer in the garden whilst I got ready. Sometimes I can’t control my tears when I’m really emotional and I thought there might be things two men on their own could discuss more easily. At the time we were living in and renovating/extending an old cottage. It was a building site, with the extension only half-built and no kitchen facilities, bathrooms under going renovation etc. I had to put my make-up on using a low coffee table in front of the only mirror we had that was actually on a wall. It was in what would eventually become the new dining room, but at the time was full of packing cases and rolls of carpet. My father had died just a few days before my birthday and my youngest son had given me a kitten as a present, thinking it might help cheer me up. Tiggy (short for Tigger, because he has black and white stripes like a tiger) had been with us almost a week and loved the chaos of the cottage. In between trying to apply mascara in the poor lighting available in the room, I was talking out aloud to Tiggy who was running up and down one of the rolls of carpet. Contd. on page 2…