My father passed away on on the 7th and it’s been a bit of an up and down journey. Firstly, despite it being 2 weeks, I’ve not been over to see his wife or see my sister. I’ve basically grieved by myself.
I’ve had nothing to do with any funeral arrangements either. Despite asking to come along, I was fobbed off with dates in the future, only to find out a few days after that that she’d been to see to the vicar and it was all arranged. I’ve not even been allowed to have any say in the flowers.
So my private, athiest dad is having a religious service in a church, with a viewing….and he’s being buried. Even thought everyone in our family are cremated.
The one shining light was after asking if I could say a few words about him as a dad, I found out via a call with the vicar that apart from his sermon (!) I’m the only speaker. Which puts a bit of weight on me but also makes me a bit happy. I’m responsible for talking about the man. That’s amazing. I think they call it a tribute.
So with that news I took myself out to the garden this afternoon (after a brief 2 hours googling Theo James – oh my goodness, my new Matt Damon) and actually did a bit of back breaking digging. It’s the first time I’ve felt like doing anything constructive.
I managed to clear a section of garden to plant a memorial Rose a friend sent to me last week (incredibly kind even if I’m not that fond of roses). Hoping it will bloom brilliantly for me.
I think it was just what I needed despite my arthritic hands and I’m feeling a little bit lighter, a little bit less sad and that can only be a good thing.