A Golden Goodbye
22 Feb 2021
I set my alarm for 6:30AM, but I didn't even realise it went off. I got up instead an hour later, and husband had already been up at least two hours before. I put my running clothes on, and hurried down. We're heading down to Notts this morning for my father-in-law's funeral in the afternoon.
"Wow, that's a first for you! Already?!" The husband exclaimed with great incredulity.
"No", I replied. "This isn't what I'm wearing for the drive down. I'm going for a quick run."
Two years ago, on the morning before my daughter's funeral service, I also went for a run. I needed to let things out, and running was perfect because it's something I don't like doing. It hurts when I run. You feel the impact that courses through you when your feet hit the ground with all the weight of your body; the strain on thighs as you struggle to push for another step forward; the burn of oxygen deprivation as you labour for breath after each step. You feel all the pain, but you know you have to keep going because you can't stand the idea of going back without having completed at least a 1km run.
So again I ran. Walked, then ran again. I feel the urge to cry, but I can't really because there's too much pain going on in my body that I can't focus on the pain in my heart. Run. Breathe heavily. Gasp for air. Run.
You see, dad welcomed me with open arms when I first came to the UK. He was a man of few words. My husband would often joke that dad spoke to me more than he's spoken to hubs in his entire lifetime- the perks of being the only daughter-in-law. Mum & dad always referred to me as their daughter.
After each visit, dad would always give me a great big kiss on the cheek or the forehead, and say "I love you, J. You take care of each other." He was always so happy to see us, and a bit teary- eyed when they say goodbye. I remember the cheeky glint in his eye when he's asked if he'd like some ice cream.
The last time we saw him, he could move but with great difficulty. There were no kisses, no hugs. We left with a cheeky reminder of "do what mum tells you to do". That was maybe 4 months ago.
We drove down. It was a tense drive. It hung in the air, the idea of a funeral, but it was just that, an idea suspended in air. Surreal. Until the appointed time came.
As we started our walk back to the car, I turned to take a picture of Bramcote Crem. Ah, the golden hour- the glass roof of the crem reflects the light from the setting sun, as if highlighting the building structure.
I smiled. Maybe this is a reflection of the hero's welcome dad's getting from heaven.
