Saturday, 10 July 2010

Memories of my Father.

For some reason, last night, as I lay in the Summer warmth, unable to sleep, I began thinking of my Dad.He died ten years ago this September - four days after my youngest's first birthday. As I lay there in the darkness little memories slipped to the front of my mind....

The way his middle finger was crooked from breaking it sledging when he was a boy... the veins on the back of his hands... the softness of the hair on his forearms... the scar on his shoulder from having dislocated it so many times playing rugby. I remembered his final days and the tears began to fall...

I lay in the darkness silently dripping tears onto my pillow as I remembered his last night... how he suffered.... how brave he was throughout his illness, but especially those last hours.

I remembered him teaching me to dive when I was 12 ... spending hours by the poolside, patiently telling me I was doing well.

I remember my anger at his funeral where I shed not one tear.

I remember my sister and sister-in-law searching frantically through drawers as he lay dead, removing letters to his mistress that we did not want our mother to find. I remember that he never once told me that he loved me. And I remember someone telling me that when he saw Sophie's Choice he said that if he had to choose between any of his children he would rather go with all of them to die himself than lose one...

I remember when we spread his ashes I wanted to lie there in the leaves with him and never be parted. And I remember that I have never been back to that place in ten long years...maybe its time.

12 comments:

Urban Cynic said...

It was very touching reading that, thank you for sharing it. I found the part about your sister & sister-in-law frantically searching for his mistresses letters quite emotional.

I hardly ever go to see the graves of my family, simply because I don't believe they are there - they are all around me.

Mr London Street said...

This is just beautifully written. I love the way you painted a picture of the whole man, and how complex family can be.

Sarah said...

Thank you both.I am pretty raw about this under my facade so your comments mean a lot.S

Razmataz said...

That must have been tough knowing there was a mistress also. Families and people are very complicated. We had a mystery woman show up at my fathers funeral wailing and carrying on and she even invited herself up to speak.She was the waitress from his local pub! Told everyone how wonderful kind and generous he was.....I wondered if she had the right person. As a crazy co-incidence her parents moved into the house across the street from me. I pretend I don't recognise her. I don't want to know.

It sounds like you had a deep love for him, depsite his indescretion.

Mr London Street said...

Check my blog out. You've won something.

the eternal worrier: said...

That's a wonderful piece. I love the way the letters were removed to protect mum. Thank you for your comment at my place.

Jennifer said...

Wow, I really loved this, and can definitely sympathize with this conflicting feelings. I haven't been back to my mother's grave since my aunt made me two years ago. And I still don't want to be.

Such a wonderful post.
(Mr. London Street sent me, by the way.)

Blissed-Out Grandma said...

I came by on the advice of Mr London Street, and of course he is right. This is beautifully written. And while it is not sentimental, it makes clear that you are feeling the loss.

Helena Halme said...

I found you through the most talented Mr London Street. And I'm so very glad I did; what an excellent, emotional post. xx

Bethany @ Organic Enchilada said...

Simple. Profound. Excellent post.

Came from Mr London Street! Congrats on the well deserved award!

Caz said...

OMG - we sound so similar. This post made me cry as I remember my Dad who died four years ago and whenever I think about him, I think about his hands (I've even written a poem about them). Like your Dad, mine never told me he loved me and I anguished about it for years. When a parent dies, part of you goes with them and part of them stays with you - and you never, ever forget. I hope you go back to where you scattered his ashes and only have happy, joyful memories.

Happy Frog and I said...

Hello, I also have popped over on the recommendation of MLS. I did find your post very honest and moving and I could relate to parts of it. My dad died in September 22 years ago and even though I loved him so much (and still do) I couldn't cry at the funeral which I found really upsetting.