It’s a really beautiful day in Devon. The sun is streaming in through the window where I’m sitting and warming my back – it really is like the box of African sunshine Shiny sent us all is here in this light filled room. My father is in his favourite room in the house still hanging on in there. Very weak now. Not in pain. Calm and peaceful and surrounded by us all.
We are all very emotional obviously, but through the tears we have found a strange black humour and a sense of wonderment and love that we are all in this together and able to be part of the extraordinary circle of life….I almost feel like a herd of elephants. It’s very basic. Very fundamental. It’s what animals have been doing forever.
I’ve written about my father on many occasions before. He is not only my mentor but a very close friend. Somebody whose company I would search out to go to the pub with even if I was not related….
I wrote this one Father’s Day about him:-
“It was our years in Hong Kong that formed my strongest memories of my father. He was a fairly remote figure when I was growing up. He worked and my mother stayed at home. I mostly recall him in a suit having breakfast and occasionally popping home for lunch. I also remember lots of laughter, drinking, smoking and dancing, but not much of it involving us. Sometimes, when I couldn’t sleep I remember him coming into my room. I don’t ever recall him reading me a story, I remember him waving his cigarette about to make a pattern in the dark and then leaving me to sleep in a smoke-filled room. I think the three of us were more of an irritation for him than anything else, slightly getting in the way of his sailing, his gin and tonics and the attention of his wife.
He has always put my mother before us and maybe that is how it should be. They enjoy each others company and have been married for 45 years. I sent him a virtual Father’s Day card today with the following quote attached
“The most important thing a father can do for his children is to love their mother”
Theodore Hesburgh
I didn’t like the fact that he preferred to be with her when I was growing up, but now I can see how important that is as a life message. Obviously children will grow up and leave and it is important to maintain and nurture your relationship with your partner (almost) over and above that of your children and to show them how to live in a loving, respectful relationship. It wasn’t until my two brother’s and I were old enough to go to the pub with him that his view of us began to change (and possibly vice versa). Once we could hold our alcohol and our own in a conversation, he started to enjoy our company. He retired before the age of 60 and loves it. He has learnt how to fly. He has a huge lust for knowledge. He reads, he sails, he talks, he travels. He also learnt how to slow down and appreciate the smaller things in life, something he was unable to do during his working life.
He is the first person I would turn to for advice regarding the big decisions in my life. When I need clarity, I talk to him. He has always been able to see the bigger picture and to cut through the crap. About 8 months ago his cancer came back and he was given a fairly grim prognosis. “Oh well, shit happens” was his response to the news. He said that he had done all that he had ever wanted to do in his life and that everything else was a bonus. Not long ago, after 6 months of chemotherapy he has amazingly been given the “all clear”.
Who knows what that exactly means, but for now, I love the fact that he is around and interested in our lives and even secretly quite proud of all of us for different reasons. I think that now, after years of questioning what life was all about, he looks at his life, at his wife and at us and feels that he has achieved enough. If nothing else, I believe it was important for him to give us simply “a father”. Something he didn’t have the luxury of.
Long may it last.”
Well, it hasn’t lasted nearly long enough. He’s only 70. Too young. Yesterday, as I held his hand and rubbed his back and we talked about stuff and I told him all that he already knows he said in a very small voice “I am still trying to give your mother more of my life”…..and it made me cry.
What are we all going to do without him.
Erica
November 10, 2010I don’t know what to say.
I hope you’re as ok as you can be.
Sarah in deepest, darkest Lomellina
November 10, 2010“What are we all going to do without him.”
Remember, grieve, rejoice, cry, laugh, be grateful, mourn, hold each other tight and learn to live with a hole that aches, wishing time away so you can get to the point where the pain is not so sharp.
((((((((((((I’m so sorry))))))))))))))
Not going to tell you to be strong, am going to tell you it is OK to be “weak”, to let yourself feel and react and be who you are when faced with profound loss.
Family Affairs
November 10, 2010Thanks Sarah, lovely words…..Lx
Shiny
November 10, 2010Oh, I am so glad the sunshine got there. Things at times like this suddenly become so sharpened to all one’s senses – both visually and emotionally – I always think. Happiness and sadness and leaves on trees, I’m waffling, your grief is palpable and made me cry and makes me incapable of saying anything useful. Although, really, is there anything useful anyone can say? I can do nothing but send (more) love x
Family Affairs
November 10, 2010Thanks again Shiny x
TheMadHouse
November 10, 2010What a wonderful inspiring post. A very wise person once told me that the more you love the more you feel the loss, but love openly and with all your heart.
Eclipse
November 10, 2010I’m so so sorry to hear about your Dad Lu he sounds brilliant, but, it’s great that you are all there with him, that’s what family is for after all, to support each other regardless x
auntiegwen
November 10, 2010Sending you much love xx
N xxx
November 10, 2010Read your lovely words this morning and spilt hot, heartfelt tears into my cappuccino. Life bustling on around me in the cafe- but all stood still just for you all. Thoughts and love. Xxxx