Today, I did a blink-and-you'll-miss-it interview for BBC Three Counties to tell the story of my Edinburgh predicament, which came about as a result of yesterday's article on the BBC News website.
Again, it's nice that people are actively taking an interest and it's good to be able to talk about my dad on air, although, as with all these press things, you quickly become a little detached when recounting a story regularly. But the nub of the matter is still painful and not something I've even begun to come to terms with yet; it's easy to forget this temporarily when you're in the swing of promoting something like fundraising for Edinburgh.
It's the little details that get you. Today, I looked at the picture of us both together at the top of the BBC article when the bleak thought entered my head that my dad's face isn't anywhere anymore, other than in me, I guess. Then there was a more mundane moment when I started thinking about the lease on my flat and how we'd talked of how we must do something about it and I suddenly realised the conversation was over and I'd have to sort it myself.
It's such an isolating feeling that's compounded by the knowledge he can't read the kind things being said; he had to not be here any longer for this to happen, which isn't right. Then there's the finality of it. These evening, I was ordering something on Amazon when a few of items I bought to assist his care popped up and for a moment, the thought they didn't help entered my head before my rational mind dismissed it; I just wish I could have done more, that's all.
Again, it's nice that people are actively taking an interest and it's good to be able to talk about my dad on air, although, as with all these press things, you quickly become a little detached when recounting a story regularly. But the nub of the matter is still painful and not something I've even begun to come to terms with yet; it's easy to forget this temporarily when you're in the swing of promoting something like fundraising for Edinburgh.
It's the little details that get you. Today, I looked at the picture of us both together at the top of the BBC article when the bleak thought entered my head that my dad's face isn't anywhere anymore, other than in me, I guess. Then there was a more mundane moment when I started thinking about the lease on my flat and how we'd talked of how we must do something about it and I suddenly realised the conversation was over and I'd have to sort it myself.
It's such an isolating feeling that's compounded by the knowledge he can't read the kind things being said; he had to not be here any longer for this to happen, which isn't right. Then there's the finality of it. These evening, I was ordering something on Amazon when a few of items I bought to assist his care popped up and for a moment, the thought they didn't help entered my head before my rational mind dismissed it; I just wish I could have done more, that's all.