Thoughts on Bereavement
Yesterday, Saturday 17th July, was my late Father’s birthday. He would have been 92. As my granddaughters were staying over the day was upbeat, boisterous and fun due to their exuberance. Today as the bungalow returns to its normal levels of noise and excitement, I have spent some time quietly reflecting upon the nature of bereavement. When my father died last September I was focused upon the practicalities of arranging a funeral during a pandemic, ensuring that his estate was processed and that all possible provisions were made for my disabled 90 year old Mother. These things have now been done and it is only recently that I have had the time to process my own grief. The first Father’s Day (20th June in the UK) without him was naturally a milestone and his birthday has proven similarly so. However, today’s introspection has been beneficial and hence I felt the desire to write about him and share some thoughts on the nature of bereavement.
Don’t worry, I’m not going to portray my father as a “plaster saint” or place him on a pedestal. He was a mortal man and as such had all the strength and weakness that we all share. He certainly made no claim upon perfection. No, this post is more an attempt at some self therapy and a means for me to try and articulate how I miss him. Specifically, how I miss his company and talking to him. Because my Father’s ability to explain, tutor and impart knowledge is possibly his defining characteristic. He was a teacher by nature but not in an excessively didactic fashion. He had a knack for making things interesting. If you ever got him on a subject upon which he was knowledgeable and passionate he could hold forth in a most engaging fashion. It was like he had a delightful homemade pack lunch and he would happily share it with you. In this case the lunch was knowledge. As he got older, whenever you saw my Father at a family gathering he was always surrounded by nieces, nephews and such like while he made origami and answered their questions on life, the universe and everything.
If you are fortunate, when you are young you see your Father as an indomitable force that cannot be bested. He knows all the answers to your homework, he can make things out of wood and can reverse a car like James Bond. When you become a teenager, that relationship changes and their old school values and the leather arm patches on their cardigans strike you as very old fashioned. When you finally get a job and take on some adult responsibility yourself, then you suddenly see them again in a totally new light. I certainly enjoyed my Father’s company the most in the last 15 years. The cliche about old wines can be true. We would talk and I found his insight to be at times quite profound. Unlike some from his generation he was not constrained by certain social attitudes and cultural baggage. Because he was an academic, logic, facts and reason ultimately won out. He adapted and even embraced modernity quite well and I admire him greatly for that.
In 2016 my Father suffered a series of strokes that robbed him of his independence and many of the things he loved best in life. He was by nature a bon viveur, enjoying good food and good company. He spent the last 5 years of his life fed by a PEG tube. He also could no longer read or use his computer to write acerbic letters to the tabloid newspapers. Yet he suffered these indignities with stoicism and remained as sharp as a tack, although he took longer to express himself. He became very philosophical during this time and our conversations were quite incredible on occasions. He managed to separate himself from his medical condition and analyse and reflect upon it calmly without rancour or recrimination. Sadly, the pandemic of 2020 used up the last of his stamina and he grew tired of his lot. I only saw him once in hospital before he died and although I fully appreciate why this was so, it still feels like an unsatisfactory resolution.
Bereavements are an inevitability for all of us. My Father had a good life by his own admission and many people do not make it to 91. He was more than ready to go and it would be crass and selfish for me to wish for him to have endured a little longer. However, his departure has left a gap in my life and it manifests itself in the absence of his good company and sage wisdom. I watched some classic Tom and Jerry cartoons recently from the golden era and I missed him chuckling along. But that seems to be in a nutshell the nature of the loss of a loved one. The wonderful memories that bring joy are immediately followed by a pang of grief and sadness. It’s a strange, symbiotic relationship between a shared past and the loss of the love that was its foundation. You can’t have one without the other.
I think of my Father every day. He frequently pops up in conversations. Anecdotes are shared with loved ones and friends, along with a smile. And although it is both bitter and sweet simultaneously, I take comfort in the fact that it’s a marvellous legacy to leave behind. To be remembered with fondness is a good thing. In some foolish way, I feel that living on in the hearts and minds of those whose lives you have touched is a form of immortality. So I shall continue to miss my dear old Dad, as I used to refer to him as. Because, it is a constant reminder of the love we shared and the fact that he was a man, like so many others, that just tried to muddle through and do his best for those he cared for. I consider this to be a fitting epitaph and something to aspire to myself.
