My Dad was a very private man who struggled with anxiety and other things. He was a hoarder - no doubt about that but he kept it down to the 2 rooms he would frequent most. And I'm not talking about carrier bags full of empty cereal boxes, it was mainly memories.... Cards from me and my brother when we were just whippersnappers or treasures he had acquired over the years gone by, BOOKS-holla!! books by the bucket load about any given subject you could think of!! Music, ironmongery incase it would come in handy, tools for various diy projects he'd done. Lest we forget that 8 months before his death he had ripped all the old kitchen cabinets out and replaced them with new ones - he was 73!!!!
But my mother could be a spiteful person and she would shout at him and nag him to do all these things that his ailing health wouldn't allow. She told him how useless he was and how when he was gone she'd chuck all the stuff out and chop down all the trees he grew and nurtured from small pips/seeds and cuttings. She said much more and much worse.
He would tell me that when he was gone she'd get rid of all his things and wipe out any memory of him ever living there.
And she has done. His stuff is all either filed away in the small room upstairs with the door firmly shut or thrown out with the rubbish. Less than 6 weeks after he died his beloved trees haven't just been pruned back, they've been decimated. The apple trees he helped me grow from pips, when I was barely out of long socks, that bore fruit faithfully every year - well they look to have gone.
My relationship with her was fractured to say the least but it feels almost irretrievable now.
I feel like I am parentless now even though she only lives 300 yards down the road.
I miss my Dad with every last little bit of me.
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| Just some of the poor trees, a little less oxygen for this world. |
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