LHB Blog

A girl, a blog and a cactus named Pudding

A Rather Unconventional Funeral

**As with my last couple of posts I just wanted to bob up a little trigger warning as I’ll be talking about loss and grief**

Alternative title: Friday 13th January 2017, snow sat upon the tops of the hills, a chill had enveloped us the moment we exited the car. Scooters of various shapes and sizes lined the car park of the crematorium, the smell of their exhausts hanging in the air, punk music raged through the speaker system to the queue of mourners outside … My head resting on the side of the coffin as my fellow pallbearers and I carried my dad over the threshold to what would be his final goodbye.

I wanted to howl … To shriek and scream and lose all sense of control. I wanted to tell people how unfair this all was, that it was wrong that we were there to cremate a man who meant the world (and more) to me … I was (I am) daddy’s little girl and I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. I would never have been ready to say goodbye. I didn’t feel strong enough to say goodbye.

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I don’t know how to say goodbye

**I’m not sure if this needs a trigger warning but as I’m talking about Cancer I kinda feel like there should be one!**

Alternative title: My family missed the New Years celebrations; there was no Auld Lang Syne, no clinking of drinks (alcoholic or otherwise), we saw no fireworks … But there was much holding onto one another. And even more tears. You see, we didn’t get as long as we thought we would … And my dad took his final breath at 6pm on New Years Eve. 

I wish I could put into words how I feel … But I can’t seem to manage it. I can’t seem to piece together the right combination to convey exactly how painful this is. My heart is heavy, it is broken beyond all repair …

As others entered 2017 with hopes and dreams … I awoke the morning of January 1st in a state of mourning. I awoke the morning of January 1st to a new reality … One I still don’t want to accept. I awoke knowing that my father had gone.

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The C Word and Blog Hiatus

**I’m not sure if this needs a trigger warning but seen as I started bawling at a mustard coloured jumper today I guess it probably should – I’m talking about Cancer**

Alternative title: My dad has Cancer. The scans have revealed that it’s in his lungs, his liver and his lymph nodes. Nothing feels real, nothing feels normal … I suppose we’re all still reeling from the shock of it all. My dad has Cancer … And nothing will feel normal again. 

I seem to have leveled up my cuppa making skills, the house has been inundated with people from all aspects of my dad’s life, they fill the walls with their stories and buzz around him as I carefully place freshly brewed tea’s onto coasters, envelopes, the carpet (don’t tell my mum!). I don’t seem to know what else to do but to fill everyone full of tea (or coffee) and just listen as they absorb the news. I feel as though I’m just watching it all unfold … As though it isn’t real and that at any moment everything will go back to the way it was. Except I know it won’t.

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Placebo – Manchester

Alternative title: Music … A healer of sorts.

Over the weekend I found out that my dad has a tumour behind one of his eyes, yesterday I found out he also has shadowing on one of his lungs … He is on a 2 week waiting list to find out if either of those is “the big C” (as he can’t bring himself to call it cancer). It feels like a significant part of my world has shifted … A part I don’t want to shift … A shift filled with guttural shrieks of a pain I have never experienced before. A fear I have never experienced before. An anger I have never experienced before. An unknown.

And a need to feel a link to our bond, to ease the hurt of the possibilities … That link for me was Placebo celebrating their 20th Anniversary. That link, for me, was hearing Brian Molko singing “Nancy Boy“. As strange as that may seem.

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