Categories: uncategorized
Date: 11 August 2007 10:50:09
I really must go round next door and clear the kitchen.
Tonight my brother arrives. He and his friend will clear the furniture out on Sunday and Monday, and then on Tuesday the new owner moves in.
It feels a bit odd, but so far not as odd as it might. I feel very detached from the bungalow indeed, and as long as I don't go in the back garden it seems to hold few memories of Dad. Probably hardly surprising, seeing as a lot of his belongings are now boxed up or relocated in my house, and by Tuesday I'll be living surrounded by bits of his furniture too! I am not looking forward to Tuesday itself, though. (Especially as my brother will be here and his relationship with Dad was very different to mine), but the closure will be good.
Harder is steeling myself to contact the funeral directors and arrange to deal with Dad's ashes. I have a strange problem with this. Perhaps sharing it with you will help. I have no problem at all with scattering the ashes. My minister will come and say a few words, and I will take them up on the Downs where we did the same for Mum, and it will be fine. My problem is that I haven't got Dad to go with me this time. I'll go alone. There's nobody at all who can hold me tight while I cry. My sisters can't do it because they'd be as upset as I (if not more so, as they don't have a faith that he's now somewhere far better) and my friend M can't do it because she doesn't do long hugs while you cry yourself out. My old minister would have done it, but I don't know the new one so well. And somehow it's not the sort of thing that you invite just anyone to come along for. Suddenly the impact of being an "orphan" hits home! Add to that the fact that it's a tourist site where we'll be going and it's hard to find a time when I can be there unobserved.
Hardest, though, was the sudden realisation while on holiday that all the photos I'd taken, I'd really taken to show my parents where we'd been. Even Smudgelet felt it - he suddenly commented "We're never going to show these photos to Grandad again, are we?" And going to visit Canterbury, I was longing to tell Mum we'd been, because I'm beginning to reach the stage of parenthood when I'm thinking of my babies becoming real fledgelings and preparing them to fly the nest and it brought to mind one of my closest times with my mum as I was preparing to go to university.
But God is good. I feel more relaxed and "myself" than I have done for ages. I have a sense of freedom, albeit temporary. I look into the near future and see opportunities. And comfort comes from strange places. Would you believe one source was the Tesco man. And no, not in the way some of you are thinking... I know you too well! Because I had my shopping delivered without bags, he carried it in for me and helped put it away and we got talking... and discovered that he too had lost his father (also at the age of 84) at Christmas. He too was very close to his father, although his dad had died very suddenly and unexpectedly, and we were experiencing many of the same sorts of feelings. It helped immensely to talk about it with a relative stranger, strangely enough especially a man, and be able to acknowledge how we felt.
Goodness, I didn't start this blog entry intending to get emotional... pah, better go and get on with some serious housework methinks. Clear his kitchen, tidy my lounge, take Smudgelet swimming, clean Tiddles' smelly clothes, make the beds.... that should be enough to keep me going for an hour or two.