It somehow seems wrong not to acknowledge that it is one month since my Dad died.
Of course, we have done the funeral and the ashes ceremony. There don’t seem to be any rituals for what to do one month on. In weeks or months, the 23rd will just be another day of the month. Life goes on. It has to and it should.
I sense I am turning a corner in the grief stakes. I am better at going out on my own and it seems a long time since I had to rush home or to somewhere with a seat when attacked by overwhelming emotions whilst out and about. Sometimes I even feel guilty at how well I am doing. I don’t want anyone thinking Dad does not matter but he would be the first to say to get on with things and to be happy.
There are little signs that all is not well still. I could not use a bowl the other day because it is one I bought for Dad. It cost me very little but was a deep soup bowl that he loved. I can’t quite bring myself to buy chocolate eclairs yet as we used to get two and have a sneaky treat when the other family members were out and about.
Then there are those heart-wrenching moments when your children do well and you want to rush and tell Dad. Emailing a old friend today, it felt odd to not mention what Dad was up to. I almost started the sentence “As for Dad …” and then remembered.
We go to Butlins next week and Dad was there when he did his naval training. I thought I would be returning home to tell him just how much it had changed. Not anymore.
There is no clever conclusion to this post except perhaps to say that things are easing and that the passage of time does help.