...and The Other Thing ...

I didn't feel I could just add this into the previous post. I thought about posting it retrospectively, as though I had written it on the day but didn't feel that would be right either.

Probably the biggest and most traumatic event to happen this year was finding Douggie, my step-father, dead in his flat.

I can't really think of a nice, gentle way to write about this, so blunt will have to do.

I was away for the weekend at Keith's. My Mum had gone to my Nan's. No-one could get in touch with Douggie and Mum called me worried about him on the Friday evening. She didn't call back over the rest of the weekend so I made the assumption that all was OK.

It was a weird weekend anyway. Friday was the 18th September and Saturday was a day I didn't want to acknowledge (nothing to do with it being Talk Like a Pirate Day). I don't recall much about Sunday but I do remember waking up Monday morning with a terrible feeling of anxiety. So much so that I even remarked to Keith while I was driving him to work that I had a really bad feeling about something but I didn't know what it was.

I got to work and got a call from my Mum who was at dialysis. She was still worried about Douggie and she and my sister were going to pop around to check on him when she got home at 1:30 that afternoon. My feeling of dread resurfaced (it had been simmering in the background all morning) so I offered to go with them as Mum has a dodgy heart and I really didn't want her to walk in on what I imagined she could be walking in on.

I left work early - explained my concerns to my manager and my colleagues and assured them that I'd keep them posted. I got home before Mum only to find that my sister now couldn't come so I would have to take Mum myself.

Great.

I couldn't let my Mum go in first. I'd rather she'd not gone in at all. I wanted to call the police to get them to check before we got there but she wasn't having any of it. She didn't want them disturbing Douggie if the worst had happened.

We got to his flat and persuaded the warden to let us in - we didn't have his spare key because Mum hadn't been able to find it in the cupboard. I managed to persuade Mum to stay in the hallway while I went in and checked.

I'm not going to go into detail. He'd died on either the Friday evening or the Saturday morning. It wasn't cold weather. It wasn't a cold flat. It was Monday afternoon when I found him. That's one memory I wish I didn't have in my head.

Anyhow, his daughter lives in Barking and doesn't drive so as the eldest step-daughter (and the only one present) I had the task of pulling myself together, phoning everyone who needed to be phoned and arranging the funeral.

I agreed the date with the funeral directors. I organised his cremation for 6th October, which was, unbeknown to me, his and my Mum's 25th anniversary.

Keith was good. He was there for me (after a minor hiccup). He came to the funeral with me and held me when I cried.

I arranged to have the Last Post played and the traditional Military Funeral music, the name of which escapes me now. It was a good way to say goodbye. My sister hosted the wake. I didn't feel up to socialising so I didn't stay for long. Keith and I left and went to grab something to eat at TGI Friday's on the way back to his house.

Douggie was part of my life for 28 years and now he's gone. I don't want to remember him laying curled up on the floor where he'd collapsed next to his bed. I don't want to remember seeing his false teeth which had rolled under the bed. Sadly I think that for a very long time those will be the first images I see whenever I think of him. For weeks afterwards they were the only images I saw every time I closed my eyes.

I don't really know what else to say...