Well, typing away with less than five hours before a flight to Sofia in Bulgaria and then taxi transfer to Borovets in the Rila Mountains.
As I type I know it is the end of an era, and that it has not sunk in properly.
"Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message 'He is Dead'."
On the 26th July my father Anthony, Tony, went to hospital not well with an infection. He was poorly as it was, and we were concerned. Sadly he deteriorated, and on the 5th August he passed away in Macclesfield hospital. Thankfully he led his life to the end independent, living on his own, on his terms.
"He was my North, my South, my East and West," And he was for me. But I am not sad, not poignant, not heartbroken, no tears, no tearing of clothes or wailing. I am fine and I suppose feel numb, but I know it was time for him to go, and maybe he knew that; possibly. We had some fine times together and that is what counts.
I think I have learnt from him that you can bear life's challenges with fortitude and not with gripes, that life has to go on, and that you ought to be happy with your lot and appreciate it, and be cheerful. Don't take it all too seriously.
What did he say? There are not pockets in a shroud. It's not a dress rehearsal. And he meant it. He had his highs and lows, but he got through them and loved life even though not perfect.
Dad's funeral on the 23rd August, less than 48 hours ago. It was not a sad affair for me, it was something to look forward to as it marked closure for him and for me. I had no sadness, only happiness if honest. But that does not feel strange for me. I feel as though it is natural, a progression, an evolution. It meant the family could catch up with each other, and there has not been a gathering of its kind in a while, if at all. The photo is at the Waters Green Tavern where we held the wake. Brian had kindly put the food on and we drank and ate to his memory, with family and friends, discussing him and each other. I enjoyed watching, listening, and reflecting.
People parted, went their ways, and we headed back to Saddleworth for a Chinese takeaway. Myself, Uncle Michael, Sarah Cobley, John Cobley, and Claire Cobley. It was nice, genuine, and family.
Dad was family and still is.