Six months

I can't believe it has been two months since I wrote my last blog post. I think it has been a conscious decision really, I haven't really felt up to writing recently. I know initially I said this blog was a way of helping me work through all my feelings of grief, but actually, recently I haven't wanted to share those feelings. Which is unlike me. So I understand why loads of people don't want to, and keep the feelings hidden within. It is a lot easier that way, especially when you are struggling.

I think I am writing again now because even though I have gone through a bad time I know that now I am coming out the other side. Lots has happened since I last wrote, lots of firsts - we had a first Easter, first one of Lauren's birthdays, first family wedding, first one of Nana's birthdays (Dad's Mum) and our first funeral.

The latter by far was the hardest. I think probably it is the hardest thing Mum and I have had to do since Dad died. It was our friend who so sadly lost her battle with cancer. I think, at Dads funeral, we were in such a state of shock, and in such a bubble that you couldn't really take it all in, but here we were so acutely aware of the family's feelings, and knowing how much it hurts that that hurt us too. Empathy is a very powerful emotion.

It has now been six months since Dad died. I can't believe it - it has gone so quick and yet feels like so long ago - like I said, so much has happened. I think it is almost getting harder in a way as the days pass - I have to keep reminding myself that he isn't here. I know that sounds really strange, although those of you who have been through it will know what I mean. Your mind just wanders while doing the most mundane things, for example I was watering the garden this morning (which is looking so beautiful by the way - maybe there is some of Dad's green-fingered-ness in me somewhere!) and I thought of how much he would love how it was all growing, but then you have to check yourself and almost re-remember that he isn't here anymore. It is the acceptance thing - you just don't really want to accept it, and you can't quite fathom that you aren't ever going to be able to have another conversation with him.

I think it hit me like a complete bolt out of the blue when I was returning from the funeral - I think that's why I have been so quiet lately, it was almost like I was having to start the grieving process all over again. And that has been really tough.

So I may write more, but I may not, I don't know. I don't want to 'have to'. I think it has been good to express things, and I think it has helped me in a way, but what I am learning is that there are times when it isn't so good to talk, and those emotions need to be worked through with yourself. But I do know it is going to take a while, and like I have said before, those waves keep on coming and you may feel like you are drowning, but then they subside and you can catch your breath again.

Sunny Sunday

It has been such a beautiful weekend, the clocks have sprung forward and it is the time when we all start spending time outside in the sunshine.

We have been pottering in the garden all weekend, making some serious in-roads into it. It has been wonderful to be able to be outside surrounded by our glorious Devon countryside. I sat back at one point yesterday and closed my eyes and drank it all in. We are so very lucky.

Dad was massively green fingered and spent so much time in the garden, tending to his beloved plants (they really were such a joy to see) and always brought us some pots made up when he came to see us. I think he was as disappointed as we were in the state of our garden (when we first bought the house the garden was beautiful, now it is tumble down and neglected) so he would always try to brighten it up with his plants.

Sitting there yesterday I felt his presence all around me - in the deck that he fixed, in the pots that he brought, in the tools that he lent us. It was very comforting, and it made me realise that even though he isn't here any more, I still want to make him proud. I think that is what is spurring me on to transform our garden from the tip that it currently is to somewhere that he would be able to sit in and relax - I can still hear his catchphrase said again and again (I spoke of it in my funeral reading) 'this is the life' and I know we will get there.

We planted some fruit trees in his memory; apple, pear, cherry and peach. The children helped us bed and water them in and while we were doing it I tried to transfer some of my love and grief into those trees to help them grow well. I very much look forward to the day when they will start to fruit and we will be able to think of Dad and know that he would be so very happy that he has taught us well.

Our friend

You know the friend of your parents who you have always looked up to, always admired, even wanted to be like when you grow up? I've got one - someone who I have known since I was 9, someone who is just so inspiring to me, beautiful, stylish, clever, kind, caring - truly one of the best. The last time I saw her was at Dad's funeral and she was in fine form, and it was so lovely to see her, as it always was.

I saw her again today. She is dying of cancer.

I went to say hello (goodbye) because we don't know how long she has left. Plus I wanted to give my mum some support. We didn't have a chance to say goodbye to Dad, but after seeing our friend today, part of me is glad of that now. We agreed that he would have hated to have been that ill, suffering, knowing that his pain was causing us pain too. I know what happened to Dad was just unbelievable and still incredibly shocking, but I do know now that it really was the best way for him to go.

It doesn't really matter how you die, the ones left behind will always be left behind. They will always want another kiss, another hug, another smile. You are never ready to say goodbye to somebody you love. If your loved one is sick it must be so hard not knowing when it is going to happen. Not wanting to end the conversation or put the phone down after the call. Not wanting to sleep, just in case. Not wanting to leave their side. I can't imagine how much this must hurt, and in a very odd way, I do now feel lucky that we didn't have to go through that.

Death is cruel. Actually no, that's not right - life is cruel. Life puts so much on us and expects us to cope with it all. Which we do, but it is very hard. It is draining, emotionally and physically. I know that I am dealing with an extraordinarily large amount of difficulty at the moment but I also know it won't always be like this. I guess it is good preparation for the inevitable that we will all suffer at some point.

So what we all must do is make the most of each day. Of the little things. However shit things look, there must be good to be found. So I am going to keep on looking.

Car talk

Me and Dad didn't speak about much, not very much, hardly ever really...

He was the kind of guy who said if it wasn't worth talking about there wasn't really much point in saying it! This is the total opposite of me, who has to talk about everything and anything, and I guess I struggled with his lack of conversation as a child, and even more so, a teenage girl.

In recent years, however, he seemed to have taken exception to the rule.

The best times I can think of is when I broke my wrist in August 2009. I was obviously incapacitated and couldn't drive but also looking after a small boy at home while larger girl was at school. My parents were my saviour. My Mum stayed home and looked after Eli while my Dad drove me into Exeter to have an x-ray/check up/cast off/cast on/etc etc.

These times with him in the car were (in hindsight) some of the best, and most insightful, that I have ever had with him. We shared a lot of thoughts, chat, laughter, companionship, honesty, and silence. More so in those car journeys than any time I can remember in recent history. 

I guess I haven't had a lot of time with my Dad, just me and him, on the whole. While growing up him and my Mum were amongst the most embarrassing creatures that I have ever encountered on this earth. Once leaving home I wanted nothing to do with them. Once I finished college I did nothing but go home, sleep, get Mum to wash my clothes, eat their food and drink their wine. I then met my future husband - we went to their house, they took us on holiday, we drank their wine and ate their food. He then walked me down the aisle after paying for a large proportion of my wedding. I then presented him with two grandchildren - of whom he was extremely proud. This all probably makes me sound very selfish but I guess sometimes that is the way it is with your parents - I know I didn't appreciate him as much as I should have, I guess I just thought he would always be around.

We were ultimately a very happy family with lots of love and laughter but at no point did we really ever have time to sit down and talk, just the two of us, talk about life and love and children. Until this time that I broke my wrist, and we were trapped in a car together for two hours every week for 6 weeks.

I loved those times. I realised that I had missed my Dad. I enjoyed hearing him talk to me - about everything and nothing. 

I loved those times. I miss my Dad. I will cherish those times, however seemingly insignificant, forever.

Last photos

I am sat here at 12.30am looking at photos of my Dad. Needless to say, I am in tears!

My Mum has come up for the night and has brought with her some pictures of the last time we were together. Which means, these photos are of the last time I saw my Dad alive. On one hand, it is lovely that this event has been captured on film. On the other hand, it is really hard for me to look at them knowing that that was the very last time we were together, and I really didn't make the most of it.

I remember the day very well. It was the Sunday after the awful accident on the M5 Taunton (three days after my Mum's 65th Birthday). There was a massive tailback and huge diversions, and we took hours to get to my parents, and almost turned back as it was so delayed.

Our relative from Australia (my Aunt Anna) was over visiting and this was the reason for our visit. It was such a lovely day - not nearly enough time spent together due to the traffic delays (but how we were thanking our lucky stars it wasn't any of us in the accident) and we had a lovely dinner, the same old family bickering and laughing, the usual.

Me, Greg, Dad & Mum - 6th November 2011

It is extremely odd now looking back thinking that was the last time I was with my Dad while he was alive. Would I have done anything differently had I known? Would I have said more? less? Did I tell him that I loved him? Did I hug him for long enough? Did he know that I loved him? Was he proud?

Since Dad has died I wonder how things would have been if we had had any warning. Others have lost their parents to cancer or illness and been given the chance to say goodbye, but does that make things easier? I don't know the answer to that, and I expect they don't either. Any way it happens it is still bloody hard to understand, or comprehend.

I would like to think that I would have told Dad all the things that maybe I didn't when he was alive. Although I am not sure what they are. Maybe you only know in that situation. All I know it that I loved him - and I told him so. And I hugged him goodbye. And I told him I would see him soon.

Which I guess I did, in a way.

First birthday

It was my birthday yesterday. Not my first birthday you understand! But obviously, my first birthday without Dad.

Birthdays are always a reflective time - I usually look back over the last year and think about what I have achieved, and what has changed within that time. This year obviously I have had a lot more to think about than others.

I haven't really been looking forward to it to be honest - it has been another of those things that I have just wanted to 'get out of the way', and now it is done I am quite relieved. Actually, I don't know if that is the right word to use. I don't actually feel relieved - I feel kind of nothing. I had a few tearful moments throughout the day but now I just feel a bit numb.

Over the years I have always spent some point of my birthday with my parents - they usually come and take us out for a meal, or babysit the kids while me and Greg go out. I made a concerted effort to spend my birthday this year doing happy things with people I love dearly but I guess it still felt quite empty.

However, the main thing I was dreading hasn't actually happened yet.

The card. The card from my Mum - the absence of Dad's name is going to be very surreal, and I think that has been the one thing I didn't want to have to cope with. As it happens, it wasn't delivered as the slip that came through the door today told me 'the sender didn't pay the full postage' meaning Mum didn't put a big enough stamp on it! So, I have to go and pick it up tomorrow. We will see how that goes then.

Sat in my shed sewing today, I am still feeling very reflective about this last year. Even though it has been really bloody tough (to put it mildly), I have a lot to be extremely thankful for, and am very proud of what I have achieved, and I want to be able to take that forward into my 40th year. I do feel that slowly I am becoming a stronger person throughout all of this, and I want to be able to use that strength in a positive way.

If I can get through this, then I know I can do anything.

Another goodbye

Yesterday I said goodbye to my brother, as he and his beautiful family are upping sticks and moving to Canada.

Needless to say, it was an emotional event. However, I don't know if it would have been so emotional had Dad not died 3 months ago today. It would have obviously been very sad to see them go, but we would have said our farewells knowing that it is an amazing opportunity for them and that they will have a wonderful life there. The absence of my Dad was enormous though and I just wished he had been there to raise a glass to his son on his new adventure.

We are lucky; Dave and I have always been close, and I love him enormously. Since we have both had our kids, and living such a long way from each other, we have inevitably drifted apart, and I guess sometimes you think you don't need to make the effort when it is family. I think it is safe to say that recently we haven't been as close as in the past but all that has changed now.

When a member of your family dies, it affects the whole of the family, in very different ways. It may be a partner you have lost, or a brother, sister, son or daughter. In mine and my brother's case, it has been a father. We are therefore the only two people in the world who have lost 'our' Dad and only we know how that feels. This event has formed a stronger connection than we ever had before and one I know that will now never fade, no matter how far away he is or how often I see him.

I do know I am lucky however - I know of families whom the loss has torn apart, and this is so sad. I am part of a very loving, supportive family and for that I will be always grateful. If anything positive has come out of all of this, and you do need to try to find positives in things, then it must be that we have all become even closer.

So it was very hard to say goodbye. I miss my Dad so much, much more than I knew I would, and now I will miss my brother. In a different way, as I know he is on the end of the phone, or the computer, but somehow it still feels as if he is leaving me.

And I don't want anyone else to go.

Grandpa

We aren't really talking about Dad in the house much at all but I am worried that the children will forget him really quickly, you know how fickle kids can be.

I feel as if I want to keep his memory alive with them as he was such a major figure in their lives. Eli always used to love the way Dad greeted him - by lifting him up and swinging him round, that was his signature 'hello'.

Like I said in my funeral reading, he was totally devoted to his grandchildren.

I still remember vividly the first time he set eyes on Lauren - my first born and his first grandchild. There I was, lying in the hospital bed, all broken with this tiny baby beside me and in come Mum and Dad - he was beaming so hard, really flushed in the face and in his bag a bottle of champagne and some plastic flutes ready to go! He wasn't bothered whether you could drink in the hospital or not and was completely oblivious to the fact that if I had one sip I would pass out from exhaustion but he just wanted to mark the occasion the best way he knew how!

Mum & Dad with Lauren Rose - 4.4.02

When Eli arrived it was a much calmer affair and as I wasn't in hospital very long we celebrated with another bottle of regulatory champagne provided by Dad when we got home.

Dad with Eli Kindred - 13.9.05

With both the kids, and later on my brother's kids too, he just wouldn't put them down - he loved them as babies so much, I think he felt so incredibly proud, but also very blown away that they had arrived on the planet making him 'Grandpa'.

Nanny and Grandpa were very prominent in their lives (Nanny obviously still), seeing them weekly until they started school, then it was a little less. Taking them to the park for ice creams in the summer, wrapping up warm and feeding the ducks in the winter, Christmas, holidays, days out, they just both devoted themselves to the kids.

At the moment it is very hard to speak about him openly to them but I hope as the pain subsides a little I will be able to talk of all these things so the memories stay strong in their hearts.

blogging... and a pact...

You know, I was really nervous starting this blog.

Firstly, I didn't want people to feel as if I was 'going on' about it, and secondly I didn't want it to sound like a 'poor me' thing. Because that isn't what it is about at all. I am not concerned as to how many people read it at all, it was just an exercise to help me put my thoughts together and try to express in some small way what I was feeling. I really don't want people to feel obliged to read it, its probably not something that can be described as light, easy reading!

But I have been completely overwhelmed by the response to it, I have had some really lovely comments, publicly and privately and I feel so pleased that it has been well-received.

I don't want it to be something that is just sad, all of the time. Because I don't feel sad all the time. A lot of the time, but not all the time. And I would love for positive things to come out of this.

Its just that I am hearing (and I don't know whether I am tuned into it or not) quite a few sad stories at the moment. Old friends we lost touch with. Children. Babies. Parents. And really, in all honesty, you don't know when it is going to be your time. I don't want to dwell on that fact and I don't want it to affect my daily life else I will go mad! However, Greg and I made a pact recently, after everything that has happened, that we shouldn't leave each other (or anyone else we love) on a bad word. Like when he goes to work, or I go out. Even if we are feeling frustrated with each other or have had a bit of a row, we shouldn't part without making up. Just in case. Because you never know.

Doctors

I went to see the doctor today.

About something completely unrelated but I thought I had better mention what had happened, for no other reason that after speaking to my brother I need to get checked out. Both Dad and his Dad died of heart attacks, and a contributing factor to that is high cholesterol.

Anyway, after speaking about my other issue I told her about Dad. Now, pretty much everyone I know, knows what happened, so when I am speaking about it I usually use words such as 'before all this happened' and 'when Dad, you know..' because I can't really face saying it - it would make it more real. Therefore I am not actually sure when I last said the words out loud. I have obviously written it on many occasions, but as I haven't been in the position to tell a stranger, I don't think I have said it since it first happened.

So. There I was 'yes, there is something else actually. ummm... well... My Dad Died in November...' It was very strange hearing the words come out of my mouth, and it took a good few minutes to pull myself together. It just made me think how little you speak about it, even though you are thinking about it pretty much ALL the time! It also made me think that if I had had the time with her I would have started talking and not been able to stop!

So then we started talking about cholesterol, and health, and exercise - pretty much everything you already know, have heard about and read about, and I reckon my lifestyle is a reasonably healthy one. But it takes on a completely other dimension now - you are actually considering your own mortality. Not in any negative way, but just another way, in a way you hadn't really thought about before, or even considered that you would have to. But it does makes you realise that you really do need to get the most out of your life and to live it well.

I made the appointment for a blood test. It was only when driving home I realised it was made for Monday 27th. Three months to the day when Dad, well, you know...

Happy?

So. A couple of days away with Greg on our own to have a bit of time to relax. We are sitting in a lovely pub in the middle of Stratford, having said goodbye to the kids, supping local ale and reading the newspaper. It is extremely rare that we have any time to ourselves without the children, away from home, work and all the stresses of life. Greg looks up, smiles and says "happy?" to me. A throwaway comment to him, a loaded question to me. Am I happy?

I am not depressed, I know that for sure. Having suffered a couple of times in recent past (I always compare depression to having a cold sore - once you have had one you are prone to others and they can pop up when you least expect them to) I know this isn't that. It is like a background sadness, something that is there, just in the periphery. Sometimes it forces itself into the forefront, but the rest of the time just lingers on in the sidelines.

I am going through the paper, reading stories and relaxing in a comfy chair with these thoughts in the back of my mind. I get to the crossword, umm and ahh over it for ten minutes or so then turn my attention to the other puzzles on the page. Sudoku first, I have always enjoyed those. I then look over a maths puzzle, something I would never usually attempt - rejecting it as too difficult. But then hear my Dad (he loved the maths puzzles) telling me it was easy 'look, there is only one answer to that bit, and then the rest is a matter of deduction' and slowly I concentrated through it, hearing his words echoing around my head. Once I have finished it (I finished it!) I feel incredibly proud with what I have done - and I realise that for the first time since his death I have heard his words and have taken advice he has given me on board. Even though it is something as irrelevant as a newspaper puzzle I see this as a momentous occasion, as it dawns on me that I have been waiting for this moment. It immediately brings tears to my eyes knowing that I can't tell him.

So. Am I happy? well, there are glimpses, but no, not yet.

Where is he now?

I am not religious.

I don't believe in God, or Heaven or anything like that. I think it would be easier if I did, as at least it may give me some comfort - I can imagine that if I did believe at least I would know where my Dad is now. But even though this massively momentous thing has happened, it hasn't made me question my non-belief.

But I suppose it has made me question what happens once you die? I feel my Dad all around me, he is in me and he is with me. I can picture him so vividly and I can hear him, but I think that is because he is part of me, always has been and always will. I know that we are born, and then we live, and then we die. I honestly don't know any more than that, and I am not sure whether I want to. I think I am happy with the simplicity of that.

Lots of people have spoken about him being with the angels, or with his Dad, his friend, or with God. I am grateful that that helps others in their grief, but actually I like to think that he is just everywhere - all around us. He has left his mark on the earth through me and my brother, and our children. He has left memories for everyone he knew. He is always going to be here, even though he isn't. And I guess that is good enough for me.

Bude

We have been to Bude today.

We scattered Dad's ashes there just over 2 weeks ago, on what would have been his 66th birthday weekend. It was very emotional and difficult but a relief also. I felt it harder than the funeral - at that point you are still reeling with the shock of it all and still in complete denial and disbelief and it is such a social occasion that you aren't really sure whether it's all going to be that bad.

But this, this was hard. This was the final chapter - the 'closure', the start of the acceptance, the end of the chaos, the beginning of your new life without him. A sudden realisation that he is gone, but not totally understanding that concept, or wanting to believe it.

It was also a good thing to do - this process needed to start. We chose Bude because of the history we have there. It is very close to our hearts, having spent many many family holidays there, as children, as adults, with our own children and with family and friends too. It is beautiful there and I know Dad would be happy that we made that decision.

Going back today felt like I was going back home in a way - it was comforting. I wasn't upset today, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't have been tomorrow, or next week, or last week. I just had a day when the tears didn't come. And you can't force them if they aren't there; if there is one thing that I know for sure in all of this is that there will be plenty more!

Today

Today has been a good day.

Lots of people have told me how grief comes in waves, well it really does! There is no other way to describe it and until you have experienced it you can only do as I once did - nod and 'oh yes I am sure' and feel sad for the person going through it. But it really is waves. Sometimes little ones that wash over you gradually, sometimes huge crashing ones that catch you unawares.

It is all extremely confusing and frightening and overwhelming and contradicting and all consuming. I can't really describe it any better than that. I want to talk about it all the time but I don't want to talk about it at all. I want to think about it but I do anything not to. I want to cry for days but I suck it all in and shake it off. I want to focus entirely on what I am feeling although I do anything to distract me from it. I want others to know what I am going through but I don't want anyone else to have to experience it. I want it all to go away. I really do want it all to go away, but I know it isn't going to so I have to confront it.

See what I mean? bloody confusing and frightening and overwhelming and contradicting and all consuming!

I remember

I have no idea how to start this blog.

So I will start with what I read out at Dad's funeral.  I wrote this in the few days following his death. Hopefully it will give you a good idea of who he was in my eyes.


I remember...
Him hearing my teenage music choices and saying 'what's this rubbish?'

I remember...
His smile, his eyes, his laugh.
His face lighting up every time he saw any of his grandchildren.
And the very first time he held his first grandchild, Lauren. He seemed not to let go of her for months after, except when her nappy needed changing or she started crying!

I remember...
Him always being right (or thinking he was!)

I remember...
His overwhelming generosity,
His fierce devotion to his family - wife, mother, sisters, children and grandchildren.

I remember...
His award winning barbeques (and the praise he expected after every one!)

I remember...
The first question he asked us when we came through the door 'who's having a beer then?'

I remember...
His unquestioning love of golf
His childlike excitement of Christmas
Him falling asleep in front of the telly.

I remember...
His fatherly pride on my wedding day.

But most of all I remember Bude. Many, many happy family times spent in Bude.
I remember a day this year, a beautiful day, a (very rare) hot summers day.
I remember another award winning barbeque, ice cold beer in hand, a view of the sea and sand, his face lit up surrounded by all his grandchildren.
I remember him sitting back and smiling that huge smile, enjoying the moment.
And I remember his catchphrase, his constant catchphrase.
"This is the life!"

And do you know what Dad? It really was.

The beginning

Firstly, apologies if you feel this blog is too self indulgent.
However, I think I am allowed to be self-indulgent with grief - surely anyone is allowed that?!

But why a blog? Well, talking about it is hard. I am torn between wanting to, needing to, and feeling as if I am just annoying the hell out of everyone by droning on (I know this isn't the case as I have been reassured otherwise, but you can't help but feel that you don't want to be bringing friends or family down) and there is only so much you can say on facebook without getting your posts blocked...

So that brings me here. A blog. hmmm... A blog about grief - I wonder how many people are going to read this. It's not exactly a jolly one after all. But still - its for me and I am being self-indulgent, as, like I said, I am allowed. Because its my grief and its my blog and I don't give a shite about the rest of you!

so.....



My Dad died last year. 27th November. It was very sudden and completely unexpected and I don't really know what else to say about that. You know when you wake up and the day is just the same as any other, and you are just going on about your normal stuff, you aren't expecting to hear anything out of the ordinary. But that is exactly what happened. I tell you what - you dread being told anything else after that - when the phone rings you just think its going to be something bad. How long will that last?

I didn't believe it. I was in Ikea, at the till, loading my shopping with Greg and the kids. There was a man (called Ray? Bob?) on the phone and he told me my Dad had died. All I kept saying was 'what? what? what? what?' really incredulous - how fucking ridiculous, I almost laughed at the idiocy of it all! My dad - dead? Don't be bloody stupid!! My Dad can't die! But he was, and he did.

So logical me kicked in, got greg to pay for the shopping (I couldn't really stand up) phoned my neighbour to ask if she could feed the cats as I wasn't sure when I would be home and we drove to my mums (luckily only about 40mins away). Almost laughing, really shaking, shushing the kids, telling them everything would be okay, not thinking about anything apart from my Mum. Trying to get hold of my brother in Canada (with work) speaking to my sister in law, everything going into overdrive. Getting to Mums, hugging, crying - loads of people, explanations, just so much chaos. Having to phone his friends, friends he has known since school - explaining what had happened, listening to their grief, their shock. By the time I had gone through the phone book I had got pretty good at breaking the news. Going into a trance. Drinking a lot of wine (still am). Vivid dreams. Not sleeping. Lots of tears. Lots of sitting up with Mum throughout the night. Coroners. Funeral directors. Laughing at how ridiculous it all was! My brother arriving from Canada. More tears. More wine. The Funeral.

How was I to know that that was the easy bit. The bit before you start to realise that this isn't a dream, this is actually happening. He isn't going to walk through the door at any minute. He isn't coming home. I still don't think I really believe that.