22 Sep

Not quite sure how to write this without sounding unreasonably brisk, but on Friday I buried my father. Dad had had trouble of some kind for over a year, but was only diagnosed with cancer less than five months ago. Of all the things he meant to me, not least was that more than anyone else, he gave me more of a sense of belonging to a place. (Odd maybe, considering he’s from the more working-class Lancashire side of Manchester and i’ve spent most of my life on the posh Cheshire side.) So i’m fortunate to have some of his handiwork to remember him by, here in my own garden. See, besides being an electrician, heating and refrigeration engineer, he had an interest in most trades: he built the brick raised beds in the back garden and fashioned a roof over the smaller one so as to satisfy my odd gardening needs. The large bed is built from interior brick I scrounged from a skip down the road, and fractures easily in frost, so dad used so much mortar that it will virtually stand up on its own without the bricks. And this is what they looked like yesterday-



Something to remember him by. As is this fine acer palmatum my work colleague kindly presented me with. Good choice, Di-


And while we are on the kindness of others, a friend took me out in the car to take my mind off things, I have a good picture of the spot we went to. I had a swim-


There are some kind folks about.


2 Responses to “Dad”

  1. Becca September 22, 2014 at 4:36 pm #

    That is a lovely memorial. I haven’t talked with my Dad for years–partly his fault, partly mine. I wish we had a better relationship and I had something as lovely as the brick planter your Dad built for you as a connection.

    • thechthonianlife September 22, 2014 at 7:01 pm #

      I found I had a fair bit of catching up with my Dad to do the past eighteen months, i’m so glad I did.

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