**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.