Nodads and flowers

Yes, I'm still here, somewhere between the Chichester Cross and Hilsea Lido. Showing my tatty bus pass in exchange for a 45 minute trip to work. Yes my new work. Same company, new store. More on that later.

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 Lifes been a bit... Well, words throw themselves at me. Unsettled, hard, crap, difficult, slightly painful. But I'm struggling through. Desperate to get to something sunnier.

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Grandad's death brought my family to a halt. Although it was expected met with a tinge on relief, we didn't handle it as well as we thought we would. There were few tears between us until the funeral, I think that added to the strain we placed on each other. We each felt like we had to be the strong one, but with little communication about it, we didn't realise that there was no need for a 'strong one'. We'd all suffered a great loss, we didn't need to stay strong, we just needed to stay together. Something we realised on the day of the funeral.

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The funeral was short, the way he wanted it. We had a great fuss over what he wanted and what he seemed to be getting. Certain people who weren't there for years suddenly piping up with ideas of bible readings and black ties. Two things he specifically asked to be left at home. But in the end we prevailed. My dad left his tie in the wardrobe and wore his 'nodad' (named so after 18 years of my dad pleading with his dad 'no dad, don't make me wear a waistcoat!') and My mum and I wore summer colours and flower patterns. 'bright and full of flowers, just like grandad's garden'

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And his last moment with us was shared with the Village People as the YMCA blared out of the speakers whilst the curtains closed (family joke) it was good to turn around and see the 40 people behind us doing the dance, all with hazy damp eyes, but all laughing.

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There's a hell of a lot more I could say, but another day.

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Another day