LHB Blog

A girl, a blog and a cactus named Pudding

Tag: dad (Page 1 of 3)

A Rather Conventional Funeral

Alternative title : It seemed like a bad dream … The pews were the same, the funeral directors ushering people to their seats were the same, the air was as musty as all those months ago, a coffin on a stand, roses atop … But it wasn’t a dream … We were back at the crematorium. Saying goodbye to another.  

Where my dad had the scent of petrol and the roar of scooters, punk music blaring over the sound system as his coffin was walked into the crematorium, glistening fresh snow and a celebrant with tales of mischief, my uncle had rainfall (in typical Lancashire style), a sombre silence as the pall bearers lifted him over the threshold, and prayers sung in broken voices.

It seemed so strange … Yet so familiar. 

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Upon turning 32

**Sorry this post is rather late – I didn’t have the emotional energy to post it when it was first written**

Alternative title : I wanted to be happy, I really wanted to be happy … After all, birthdays come with presents and cards and cake and love and hugs and all those wonderful unicorn fart-esque moments. I tried to be happy, I really did try … But I couldn’t … Because you weren’t there to say “happy birthday flower”, because you were no longer part of the signature on my “happy birthday daughter” card … Because you weren’t here. 

I wanted everyone to forget the date, I wanted Facebook to bog-off with it’s little celebration (in fact I might tell it to permanently bog off once I’ve written this post), I didn’t want cake or flowers or cards, I wanted an unremarkable day. I can’t say that I wanted a day like any other because I spend each day attempting to navigate around the dull ache that I now recognise as your absence.

I just didn’t want reminding that this was my first birthday without my dad …

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Father’s Day … Without You!

Alternative title : Father’s Day … I just can’t seem to avoid it! 

Today is Father’s Day here in the UK … The television has been throwing up as many advertisements as it can about beers and BBQ equipment and various other things they feel that dad’s should be unwrapping (no matter how awkward a wrapping session the object may be for the buyer of said gift – BBQ tongs anyone?), the Radio is a constant whittering hum of “and how are you going to celebrate?” to prompt the listeners to call in and regale us all in between some quite horrific “Summer tunes”, every shop is plastered with cards upon cards upon cards and even my colleagues have been enlightening me on how they are going to spend the weekend treating their dad’s to all manner of food and adventure (and in most cases alcoholic beverages of the whiskey kind!).

While over here in LHB HQ I feel as though I should have a massive neon sign above my head that says “please don’t ask me about Father’s Day” and a red button on my TV remote to opt out of these adverts … The Radio I will gladly put on hiatus for now (and may do for the remainder of the Summer). As for supermarkets, well, short of growing my own food in a short space of time I could hardly avoid them.

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The change in my pocket

Alternative title : Who knew that £1.68 could throw me into an internal grief meltdown. It’s just money right? And not a lot of it. I mean, can you even buy a Freddo nowadays for £1.68? … But create an internal grief meltdown it did. The day it fell out of my coat pocket and bounced into the driver foot-well of my car. I still have no idea where £1.50 of that ended up … The remaining 18p feels like the most precious thing in the world to me right now, all because the last person to touch it (aside from me) was my dad. 

I know it’s silly to feel as though I’ve lost a part of him because I lost £1.50 that he gave me, but right now that is exactly what it feels like and as much as I adore Monty (my car) I was ready to tear it apart in search of those missing coins.

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