Death be not proud

The Elizabethan poet John Donne wrote ‘Death be not proud though some have called thee mighty, for thou art not so’.  The old adage that people don’t die and they live on through you is absolutely true.

My lovely Dad died recently.  87 years old, an ex-royal marine (green beret I’ll have you know) an ex-engineer, and latterly a green grocer, born in 1931 to the sound of Bow bells.  How he was loved, and how he was cherished.

Dad has become a kind of cookie cutter… wherever I am and wherever I look there is a dad shaped hole in the world and it has taken some getting used to.  Blue skies, blue eyes.  Grey skies, grey hair.  A lost piece in a jigsaw never to be replaced, a family picture never to be complete again, and you can’t help but find yourself hunting high and low for the missing bit.  Is he down the back of the sofa he sat on?  Under the rug he always admired?  Amongst the flowers in the garden he loved so much?  Is he that robin who keeps appearing at the window?

It’s not that I am unfamiliar with death…but my Dad, you know, I’ve known him all my life and despite ill-health, it’s been a shock losing him.  He, alongside my Mother and siblings have been the most constant thing in my life. In the latter years of his life he could be difficult and cantankerous but my Dad had a wonderful sense of humour, and he brought colour into my world.  He liked to laugh always, and he will be much missed.  He was an excellent pianist, super craftsmen and a word whizz with academic ability way beyond that which was afforded him.  I never heard him say ‘it’s not fair’…. he worked hard, was a grafter and never expected anything from anyone.  Sometimes his pride was so annoying, like when he refused to tell the council he could hardly walk to get a disabled parking badge that would have made life a bit easier.

When it came to writing the card to accompany the flowers for him at his funeral, I realised I had so much to say.  Not that it had been unsaid, my Dad knew I loved him and I knew he loved me.  It was just the importance of what he was and is in my life was incredibly hard to sum up in a few words on a card.  He was so much more than that.

Losing a parent is always heart breaking.  For the majority of us, your parents are the only people who genuinely take joy in your triumphs and have pity on your failures.  Who are the measure by which you judge yourself.

They say that grief comes in waves and it’s true.  They ebb and flow and sometimes submerge you, but you have to learn to ‘just keep swimming’ like Dory.