Another memory from way back:
I was about sixteen, my parents were mid-divorce and mired in the mess that flows from that. My dad was moving out of our family home, leaving me behind with my mum, and I was giving being a pain in the ass a damned good shot.
In a quiet moment aside, dad said to me ‘wherever I am, whatever is going on in your life, I want to know. However bad or good, I want to know. If you are wrong I’ll tell you so, but I will always love you. I might tell you you’re wrong but I will merrily kill anyone else who criticises you. You can always talk to me, always tell me whatever, whenever.’
Those words were thoroughly my dad. He loved unconditionally but with clear sight. He could see my faults but would get past them and offered absolute, crazy, almost ferocious, loyalty. I sometimes think only a parent can love like that.
I am sure that my dad would not want a little thing like death to stop us from talking…