A lot has happened since then, and finding the right time to put up a message, and knowing quite what to say has become harder and harder as time has gone on. I know that I want to continue to blog, and I'm sure that a lot of what ends up on here will be my usual trivial nonsense.
But I can't get straight back to that.
The world has changed.
I'm gradually getting used to this different world, but it is taking time. I don't suppose it'll ever be entirely ok.
Music both helps and hurts all at the same time. Romsey's concert, dedicated to Dad last night, was amazing. The tenors sounded beautiful as they sang the Agnus Dei - but he wasn't one of them. I don't think I've ever felt tears quite that hot against my eyes.
And then, at the end, as a further tribute, they sang Crossing the Bar, which they'd sung at the funeral.
The only words I can think to share right now are the ones that I said at Dad's funeral back in January, to try to explain how close we were and how special he was to me.
I miss him so much.
I’m not here to tell you all about Dad and
his many qualities – you all knew Dad and already know what a wonderful, kind
and gentle man he was.
I thought I’d share a few personal memories
I have of my Dad, and the special bond we had. My Dad and I had lots in common
– we went to the same school (where my son Jake is now a pupil), we went to the
same university and studied the same subject, we sung in some of the same
choirs and had a shared love of music, and we even shared a very similar sense
of humour. Dad and I were able to drag out silly jokes for days on end, much to
the annoyance of the rest of our family!
And as I think about the lifetime of
memories that I have, I remember in particular:
- Playing trains together in the basement of our old house in Maidstone Road. The hours, the endless hours he spent building the layout so we could play together, and the excitement and anticipation of seeing him get off the bus home from work with something new from Beatties model shop.
- Loving, just loving, talking about a maths problem with my Dad. Dad would help me solve the problem in the first five minutes, but then we’d spend the next hour or two talking about topics that were vaguely connected to the original problem. I know for certain that this is where my love for the subject came from.
- And, a very important life lesson that Dad taught me in my formative years – never take musical ties to funerals. Should seem fairly obvious I know, by this was a lesson that Dad and I had to learn together the hard way.
- The holidays. The wonderful family holidays. Dad driving through the night to take us to the Lake District whilst Bec and I slept and kicked each other on the back seat. Renting the big house on the Isle of Wight and taking along extended family and friends. Dad taking the dog for her morning drag to the paper shop each day.
- As for the musical memories, it’s almost impossible to pick out just one. I expect everyone here has many musical memories of Dad – such was his lifelong passion. For me, I shall never forget the day a few years ago when we went together to a John Rutter singing day. He and I stood next to each other, me muddling on through whilst Dad sang in his beautiful tenor voice.
- And finally, only a few weeks ago, just being sat together in the Old School House with Dad, listening to a recording that he’d made from the radio of the Faure Reqiuem
So, whilst there may be no more new
memories to make, I count myself lucky. My Dad has left me with a treasure
trove. And maybe the memories are painful now, but I know that in time they’ll
return to doing what they’d done before – bringing great joy in remembering
happy times.
And Dad, as I said to you only so very recently, nothing makes me more proud than when people tell me I am a bit like you - and I'm going to carry on trying to be a bit more like you every day - and I know I'll be the better man for it.
