A last word

The longest ten days of my life are over and hopefully we can begin to move forward again, now.

Much as I love (and like) my family a period of that length of time with them, removed from my comfort zone, is stressful at best and this was not the best of times. I hadn't realised quite how tense I have been feeling until I got back to London yesterday evening and began feeling relaxed. I am taking tomorrow off work too, just to complete the stress-free rehabilitation before heading back to the office on Tuesday.

I have never been at the working end of a funeral before and I don't recommend the preparation period to anyone; long periods of anxious inactivity followed by intense periods of detailed and distressing arrangements, when anyone and anything can set you off without warning. The constant seeming delays in getting the release from the coroner's office at the beginning of the week was a case in point. The Lea family needed their services just as they decided upon a day's industrial action. Who needs those nerve endings anyway?

The viewing was upsetting: it didn't look like Dad lying in the casket - just some generic old man hastily made to have a passing resemblance to him. What Dad was and what he had been was not there. I am still ambivalent about the value of the exercise to me personally, but both Mum and Barbie seemed to find it valuable. They had seen him shortly after he had died in his hospital bed, still with the evidence of failed resuscitation surrounding him, so to see him in his own clothes clean, combed and peaceful helped set their minds at rest I think. My last memory of Dad is some months older. I last saw him on New Year's Day. He had put his favourite grey jacket on and was wearing his flat cap. He was standing with his walking stick, just about to go back to the rest home after spending the day with his family. He turned to Elle with a wry smile and said to her, "It's about time someone took him on" indicating me and then he left. That's the memory I am holding on to. It's a good one.

The funeral went well, as well as these things go. The walk into the church behind the coffin was upsetting, but the service was soothing in the way that only traditional rituals can be. I held up through the interment until Dad's sister, my Auntie Ma, the last of that generation of the family came to speak to me. That's when I crumbled.

And now it's over and we move on.

On a final note, I'd like to make the observation that Dad was probably the last victim of the great Betamax-VHS war of the 1970s. I have thought about this a lot over the past few days. In latter years dad was almost pathologically unable to use a TV remote or indeed do anything with the TV other than physically switch it on. He watched whichever channel it was set to unless someone changed it for him. The Sky Digibox, DVD player and even the VCR were closed books to him. But it wasn't always like that. Sometime in the late 1970s he came home, pleased as punch with a bright shiny new VCR. A Betamax VCR. We were duly impressed and his demonstrations of the technical abilities of this wonder machine were endless. But then they stopped making tapes for the Betamax, either for taping or for rental. And so we moved on to a new VHS machine, a little more complicated and then another, still more complicated. I think his confidence ebbed with each new generation removed from his Betamax glory days until he withdrew from the sphere of TV and accessory operations all together.

So beware the march of technology.

I miss my Dad and the way the dog used to take him for walks.

Thank you everyone who sent their good wishes either as comments or by email or text. I appreciate them all, but you will understand if I don't respond separately.

And now, onwards.

A last word

The longest ten days of my life are over and hopefully we can begin to move forward again, now.

Much as I love (and like) my family a period of that length of time with them, removed from my comfort zone, is stressful at best and this was not the best of times. I hadn't realised quite how tense I have been feeling until I got back to London yesterday evening and began feeling relaxed. I am taking tomorrow off work too, just to complete the stress-free rehabilitation before heading back to the office on Tuesday.

I have never been at the working end of a funeral before and I don't recommend the preparation period to anyone; long periods of anxious inactivity followed by intense periods of detailed and distressing arrangements, when anyone and anything can set you off without warning. The constant seeming delays in getting the release from the coroner's office at the beginning of the week was a case in point. The Lea family needed their services just as they decided upon a day's industrial action. Who needs those nerve endings anyway?

The viewing was upsetting: it didn't look like Dad lying in the casket - just some generic old man hastily made to have a passing resemblance to him. What Dad was and what he had been was not there. I am still ambivalent about the value of the exercise to me personally, but both Mum and Barbie seemed to find it valuable. They had seen him shortly after he had died in his hospital bed, still with the evidence of failed resuscitation surrounding him, so to see him in his own clothes clean, combed and peaceful helped set their minds at rest I think. My last memory of Dad is some months older. I last saw him on New Year's Day. He had put his favourite grey jacket on and was wearing his flat cap. He was standing with his walking stick, just about to go back to the rest home after spending the day with his family. He turned to Elle with a wry smile and said to her, "It's about time someone took him on" indicating me and then he left. That's the memory I am holding on to. It's a good one.

The funeral went well, as well as these things go. The walk into the church behind the coffin was upsetting, but the service was soothing in the way that only traditional rituals can be. I held up through the interment until Dad's sister, my Auntie Ma, the last of that generation of the family came to speak to me. That's when I crumbled.

And now it's over and we move on.

On a final note, I'd like to make the observation that Dad was probably the last victim of the great Betamax-VHS war of the 1970s. I have thought about this a lot over the past few days. In latter years dad was almost pathologically unable to use a TV remote or indeed do anything with the TV other than physically switch it on. He watched whichever channel it was set to unless someone changed it for him. The Sky Digibox, DVD player and even the VCR were closed books to him. But it wasn't always like that. Sometime in the late 1970s he came home, pleased as punch with a bright shiny new VCR. A Betamax VCR. We were duly impressed and his demonstrations of the technical abilities of this wonder machine were endless. But then they stopped making tapes for the Betamax, either for taping or for rental. And so we moved on to a new VHS machine, a little more complicated and then another, still more complicated. I think his confidence ebbed with each new generation removed from his Betamax glory days until he withdrew from the sphere of TV and accessory operations all together.

So beware the march of technology.

I miss my Dad and the way the dog used to take him for walks.

Thank you everyone who sent their good wishes either as comments or by email or text. I appreciate them all, but you will understand if I don't respond separately.

And now, onwards.