Distance adds to pain I feel
On Tuesday, I washed my hair, painted my toenails, put on a summer-coloured dress, and then I went to the kitchen where my boys waited. We lit candles.
Then, we watched my dad’s funeral, live online, from 10 000km away.
Oh man…
Yes, the self-professed and delighted “awkward old bugger” went and did the most awkward thing he could possibly do: he died right in the middle of coronavirus, right when the world is in lockdown, right when I couldn’t be there to salute his passing, to help give him a fitting send-off, to assist with arrangements, to share the burden of this huge grief, to support my mum, to be supported.
Two weeks ago today was his last day on earth; two weeks ago I still had a father.
Two weeks ago, I wrote him a text message saying that I hoped he’d get better soon, that I missed him, that I loved him. I know he probably never read it: he was certainly asleep when I sent it. And then came the jangling smallhours phone call that everybody dreads, and my mum’s tight, broken voice: “Jennie, he’s gone. Your daddy’s gone.”
My daddy’s gone – but how to bear it?
The last time we spoke was when he phoned to check that I way okay; his final words to me were: “Love you, bye.”
In my head, I’d always thought I’d read a eulogy at his funeral and, sometimes, I wondered if I’d be strong enough to stand up and deliver my piece. Instead, my sister spoke my words, saying in his death the things I rarely acknowledged in his life:
How his whistle was my childhood comfort.
How his singing meant happiness.
How I mistook his frustration at my misfires for disappointment, because he truly believed that I – that we, his children, his grandchildren – could do anything.
His no-holds-barred love and support, because he was always trying to stop us from falling, catching us, picking up the pieces.
His teasing, and how we got the giggles that time he accidentally dropped an egg down my top.
His boundless generosity – emotionally, financially, physically, spiritually – because he never stopped giving, everywhere, to everyone.
I love you, too, Dad. Always.