The End Of An Era

I’m writing this blog on the train back to London. I’ve spent three pretty bleak days up in Preston.

“Nowt new about that” I hear you say, “Preston’s always bleak” and of course you’re right, but this trip was especially bleak. It was my first time back since my Dad’s funeral at the beginning of March.
I’d put off going up to clear out the flat because I couldn’t bear the thought of staying there while I did it, then one of my friends suggested I just stay in a hotel and suddenly it was all ‘do-able’.

So Monday I got the train up, and first of all I did some legal stuff like sign my will. I think my lawyer thinks I’m crackers, two of my beneficiaries are the Dalai Lama and Monkey World! Then I went to visit my aunt where I sat reminiscing for a good few hours, before going off to see my cousin’s daughter’s new baby! Anything to avoid going to the flat.

I didn’t make it there Monday at all, I went to the hotel and caught up on the sleep I lost the night before.

On Tuesday I couldn’t delay, so off I went. I walked in expecting my Dad to be sat in his chair. He wasn’t of course, but I could smell him in there. Not that he stunk of piss or anything, but just his scent was still lingering. The curse of being a non-smoker I guess. If I was still on the fags I’d not have noticed.

In the kitchen the calendar was on March it was like time had frozen. So it would appear had my emotions cos it all came spilling out. Tears for my Dad, tears for my Mum who died four and a half years ago, and selfishly, tears for me as I accepted I truly am alone now in the world. The only two people who had to love me no matter what are buried across the road under a bush in the church grounds (well their ashes are).

I allowed myself the sobs, then got stuck in. At first it was easy enough, slinging out old toiletries, packing up clothes for the charity shops - all the while checking every single pocket cos my Dad was a bugger for squirreling away money - then came the photographs.

I’d decided that I wasn’t going to keep many of them because when I die, someone from the council will be doing for me what I’m doing for them and everything will go in the bin, but some evoked such memories I had no choice but to keep them.

My childhood what what you might call ‘dysfunctional’ - if you were prone to understatement - but as I looked at some of my baby photos, and saw the look of love in my Mum and my Dad’s eyes as they held me, all the old shit just melted away. My childhood was what it was, and its a long way behind me now. They did their best, and that’s all anyone can do.

I am so glad I made this trip because getting to that point is a huge thing for me. I’ve been caught up in the blame game for a long time, and now I’m free of it.

This morning the nice man I booked to clear the place came and took everything away, then the estate agent came and told me it was worth more than I expected (only I could decide to sell a property the week the news breaks of a double dip recession!).

As I turned out the lights and closed the door for the last time, I felt a real sadness. By the time I got to the bottom of the stairs I realised that I’ve turned another corner. Its the end of one chapter, time for the next one to begin!