It's been a while. My father died.

I'm still processing it all. The hurried flight. The familiar drive across the chalky downs past Stonehenge. Breathing wintery air. Sitting at his bedside for days holding his hand as he drifted away. Being in close proximity with siblings for longer than I can remember since being a small child - my older sisters were all gone from home by the time I was 11 so being a teenager was like being an only child. Hearing different versions of the truth you think you've always known.
People were so desperately kind. You suddenly realise those people who have gone through a similar experience - a senior person at work who has always been quite distant sending me encouraging text messages, a friend who writes stuff on her blog which makes you weep with the loss you are about to face, a worker at the care home who hugs you as you go out to get a coffee and brings you sandwiches to order like you were staying in a 5 star hotel rather than a modest aged care facility, the local GP who comes and answers all our questions with consideration and care.
The dynamics between us were shifting. My sister, who I have always been slightly exasperated by, turns out to be the one who is gentlest and least upset by his daily decline. One sibling is not there. I don't know the reasons but know that for me, it is a privilege to have this time, that I would be bereft if he had died before I got there.
He finally let go. I realised I had been holding my breath for a week. It was a Sunday so there was not a lot that could be done so I went to Tesco's. I thought, my father died two hours ago and I am in Tesco's.

A funeral is a lesson in compromise. I'd thought it should be at the cathedral but it turned out the first week of advent was too difficult and we had the funeral in the church were I was married and where my daughter was christened. It turned out to be exactly the right thing, as it was small and familiar. I went to the cathedral the afternoon before the funeral and listened to some children practising for a concert and lit a candle for my father. The service was led by the priest vicar from the cathedral who turned out to know my father quite well. "He was an incorrigble flirt" I said as we met in the Bishops Palace cafe to discuss the service, "oh, I am so glad you noticed" he said "he even called my wife, darling".
I wrote the eulogy. The first one was mawkish. I threw it away. The second one was better. We sang uplifting hymns. We had beautiful flowers. We went to the local pub and ate our body weight in sandwiches, sausage rolls and mince pies.
I can't believe he has gone. I was talking to a friend in Chile. She said when her mother died she expected to feel relief since her mother had a terrible disease but she said "it hit me like a fucking freight train". She was so right. I'm still lying on the tracks. I'll get up soon but right now I feel terribly winded.
Hello 2013. Let's make good things happen this year, ok?
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