I think I started this post in April, or maybe May.
I was in San Francisco when my Mum and Sis called to tell me Dad had died. It was expected. He was 80. A dear, dear man. Luckily, I have dear old friends in San Francisco, who came to sit with me the day after. What a difference that makes. Imagine if I was in a hotel in... Milwaukee. Thank you friends.
We worked out when we could all get back for Dad's service, so I tried to keep doing the work trip I was on. It was very strange to compartmentalise something like that. I don't think I've ever tried to do that so consciously before. I suspect many of us feel a sense of detachment when someone very close dies. Right? But the compartments weren't very strong, and it was difficult. Exhausting.
When I found out I was going to Adelaide, I booked the most bizarre trip home. Turns out the work trip had me end up in Milwaukee. For some reason I booked a flight from Dallas to Fiji to Adelaide. I think because it was way cheaper than all the rest. I forgot I had to get from Milwaukee to Dallas. I ended up driving through the middle of America: Wisconsin to Illinois through Missouri to Arkansas—where I managed to hole up in a bougie cabin for a breath—then finally into Texas, to Dallas. But that trip is for another post. I caught the plane to Adelaide. I was in Fiji for two hours. How ridiculous. I'll never do that again.
Just remembered I started this draft back in April but never posted it. Now it's Thanksgiving and I came to the blog to write something else because you're supposed to write things down.
I was in Adelaide for about two weeks. It was terrible and loving and family was there. My sister did a wonderful job of making a beautiful send-off for Dad. I cried the whole way through, and she even asked the Adelaide Chamber Singers to come and sing The Blue Bird by Stanford and I'm crying now just writing that. I spent good time with Mum (who is now also in care; took a steep slide downwards when Dad had to go into care last year). And then I left again.
When I got back to London, my lovely cat Sixty was about half the weight he was when I left. The cat sitter just thought he was "super chilled" but to me it was obvious he was dying. A friend said he stuck around to say goodbye to me, so I'm really glad I got to see him. I was able to find a vet to come to the house to put him down, and Fiona came to be with me while it happened. Thank you. I'm crying even more now. The grief is still so close to the surface, even though I'm calmer, mostly.
Keep busy. Be useful. Get joy from somewhere. Be creative. So I'm writing this.
Still missing my beautiful Dad very much. And darling Mum. 10,000 miles + dementia is a giant fucker. Haven't gotten a new cat yet.
Here's Dad and Sixty at Chattanooga Street. It really does tell you everything you need to know about each of them.
