This will be the first year in a long time that I haven't had to drive down to Plymouth on Christmas day to cook my father's Christmas dinner - or like last year, visit him in the care home to chat to him while he ate his. I moaned about making this trip every year. It nearly always poured with rain and the motorway journey was a nightmare. Also, my father had no idea about cooking, which meant taking everything with me. Literally everything. Turkey, veg, even the cooking oil, seasoning and roasting tins.
His contribution was to insist he'd already bought the potatoes, so there was no need to bring any. The family called it #potatogate. A maximum of three potatoes in a bag (if we were lucky), usually already sprouting. Basically, enough for him. It happened every year.
Despite all this, I'll miss #potatogate. I'll even miss that journey.
He died in January this year. The day he died, the family raced down in the worst of weather to see him. The rain was apocalyptic and the motorway was partly flooded, and I could almost feel my dad calling to us in the howling wind. He was a very cautious man. He would definitely have told us to turn back.
He was already dead, but I wanted to see him anyway. One last time. Entering his room, he looked almost cheerful lying on his bed, wearing his best blue stripy pyjamas. At that precise moment, the rain stopped, clouds parted and a shaft of sunlight poured onto on his face through the open window. (There were reasons the care home had the window open, which I won't go into - but in the sunlight it felt like his exit route out, free at last.)
Since his funeral, his ashes have been stored at the funeral home. They sent me a letter this month, reminding me he was there, and letting me know his free storage time was nearly up.
What do you do with ashes? He hadn't made any requests himself, mostly because he thought he was immortal. Towards the end in the care home, he'd even asked me to get a refund on his funeral plan as he didn't need it. Fortunately his failing memory meant he didn't follow up on that one, but it was just as well he'd mentioned it, as I'd no idea he even had one. The plan covered the funeral, but said nothing about what he wanted done with his ashes.
While the family decides (I favour scattering them where he dumped his last wife's), I'm thinking of driving down to collect him in time for Christmas. I even wondered about taking him to my daughter's place for Christmas dinner (I haven't told her, so probably best leave him outside in the car). I might even take him to his favourite beach before we start the journey.
I recognise this is more for me than for him. He wasn't a sentimental man at all and probably couldn't care less. He kept my mother in the wardrobe for months.
I often wonder if he told his next girlfriend she was in there...
Anyway, if you're stuck with difficult journeys and annoying relatives this festive season, remember no one lasts forever, and one day you might even miss them.
Whatever you're doing, I wish you all a merry Christmas.
Lu Hersey
No comments:
Post a Comment