My dad

My dad died unexpectedly on 8th February 2021 (and it wasn't COVID). I say 'unexpectedly' because he was mostly pretty well and healthy as far as we knew and was heading for his 92nd birthday. But at 91 I guess that there was always the growing understanding that we were heading for something like this at some point. It's hard to avoid the inevitable.

But it was a shock. What did I wish I had asked him while I had the time? Well I actually would have asked him what music he wanted at his funeral services for sure. I had the task of organising the funeral services and I knew he liked singing but, apart from Gilbert and Sullivan which he loved, I didn't have a clue what hymns/Christian songs he would like (Gilbert and Sullivan was ruled out of the question by my mum - fair enough). I think I would also have made sure I read and replied to his email sent four weeks before he died where he attached a long document in which he wrote as many stories as he could remember about his life. I wish I'd read it instead of thinking -'I'll get to that when I have some time'. I would have asked him to tell me more.

But I also have a grateful heart that Dad hardly suffered at all, that I talked to him in a zoom call the afternoon before he died, and that all his children and grandchildren were able to gather for his funeral. I'm grateful that I still have my mum, that it's not yet the time that I become the oldest alive in my generation and where I don't have to face up to my own mortality just yet. But then my dad died unexpectedly. Basically, my dad was ready regardless of the unexpected passing and I think I am too - ready, that is, for what comes next. 

What WAS amazing about my dad dying was discovering the love and respect so many people had for him. He was a missionary and the mission society's tribute at the Crem Service was incredible and eye opening. 

And it was amazing that he sent his written memories just four weeks before he died?! The six grandchildren read excerpts from Grandpa's memories as the soundtrack to photos of him during the thanksgiving service. It's here.

My dad was a grafter, and he was truly unable to understand why people just didn't just get on and get things done, he really had no time for wellbeing (he actually said this to me, sorry). But then he lived through a civil war in a country that wasn't his own, saving a lot of lives in the process, he managed without a salary for months on end at times, just managing with as little as possible, he graciously took a junior teaching job when back in the UK at the age of 50 because his experience as Principal for a College in Africa wasn't the right kind of experience to get anything better in the UK. And if I were to tell you what kind of house we lived in when we were abroad, what the bathroom and kitchen facilities were like  - well, perhaps it's not surprising that the slight discomfort of lockdown only had the impact of him being cross that he was no longer needed (did I say he was 91) for preparing and delivering sermons anymore, and why he just accepted uncomfortable changes and got on with things, usually remarking with dry humour and a twinkle in his eye that people are too soft these days!

I'm proud of my dad - that he wasn't whingey, he was interesting to talk to, he was always interested in all the aspects of our lives, he revelled in the achievements and ambitions of his children and grandchildren, and loved to tell us about the people he knew. He had a brilliant awareness of the theatre and loved going to as many plays as possible.  He knew how make an opportunity to buy me a coffee a seriously special memorable treat. And in this small experience I feel I understand more of what I miss about my dad - the little treat that had nothing to do with money or quality of the drink but was all about being made to feel special for just a few moments.