Life goes on

I buried my father on Thursday afternoon. It was, I suppose, a decent funeral as funerals go.

My first thoughts on seeing the coffin were '...such a small box...'. I remember my father as a tall, wide shouldered man. The coffin came as a shock.

I didn't really listen to the vicar; I was too numb, caught up in my own thoughts. I've decided that I really don't like burials. There is something faintly disturbing about the coffin going into the ground. I haven't worked out what it is yet.

I've never been a particularly articulate person when it comes to my own emotions, but this was probably the hardest thing I have ever done.

I'm still trying to come to terms with it. I can't control my moods any more. I find myself cycling randomly between anger, sadness and a kind of overdone happiness which comes off as fake even to me. I find this disturbing as I'm usually pretty out of touch emotionally, and its almost like I'm losing containment. I find myself having no frame of reference for dealing with how I'm feeling.

There's no real point to this post, I'm just writing things down as they occur to me.

Bye Dad

I found out on Saturday that my father has passed away. Apparently he passed some time at the end of February but wasn't found until recently because he was a solitary kind of guy.

I didn't talk to him all that often, mostly the odd email back and forth. We weren't as close as we could have been in recent years, but we had a comfortable enough relationship.

I don't think he ever knew how much I admired him for having the courage and conviction to follow through with his dreams, sell his house, buy a boat and sail it around the globe. That takes an uncommon man, by anyone's definition.

I can't help but feel guilty at how he was left almost alone by his children to recover from his terrible accident. An accident that robbed him of much of his vigour and left him with poor eyesight and hearing, no sense of taste and a shadow of his former self. I never told him how much I admire how he picked up and carried on where so many people would have given up.

I remember how we used to sit for hours when I was a child and just talk about things. Anything from Chernobyl to growing roses. I think he's almost entirely resposible for my love of learning, science my ability to find almost anything interesting. I never told him that.

In the years after my parents divorce, I remember how hard he tried to make our weekends with him interesting. It can't have been easy for a middle aged city worker to connect with three young children, but he did his best. I didn't tell him how much I appreciated his efforts.

I was never the best son in the world, and I wasn't there for you when you needed support the most. I'm almost certain you understood my reasons and what was going on in my life. I guess I never thanked you for that either.

I'm sorry dad. Thank you for everything. I love you.

Goodbye.

Matt.