mostly david ephgrave

Today, I received word that my dad's gravestone has been laid, along with a photograph to prove it (not that I was in any doubt). It's these things you can be a little unsure how you'll react to; it was like seeing his coffin at the funeral or carrying his ashes casket at the burial. There's a sense of finality and actuality that can be a little unsettling if don't prepare yourself for it. But any time I worry, I remind myself that it's just my dad and I love him, and I needn't be afraid, because there'll never be a reason to be frightened when he's nearby, ever. When the paramedic asked if I wanted to see him when I arrived minutes after he'd died, I faltered for a moment. But I quickly mentally corrected myself, because I knew I had a responsibility to him as my dad, and because I knew he'd need me. He told me more than once towards the end that I made him less afraid when I was there, so I was glad there was a way I could acti...

Today we buried my dad's ashes at the church in Woolmer Green where we had his funeral, opposite his old school and the pub he drank in regularly, in the same grave as his parents. The service was brief but pleasant, in the presence of his close family, and I had the responsibility of lowering the casket at the opportune moment. Doing this was hard, inevitably, but it also meant a lot to be the one to do it, and I hope it would give me dad comfort to know the task went to me; I love and miss him unceasingly and he's always on my mind (look out, Willie Nelson), and he told me not long before he died that I made him less afraid, so I hope I helped. There's one conversation we had in his last few weeks that was pertinent. Like many men, we didn't express the depth of our feelings until the last moment, but they could still be summed up in a few words. At the time, my heart ached as we navigated difficult topics knowing there wouldn't be a second chance. But I ...

Nothing starts the day better than receiving a cheery email. Stumbling across this as I scrolled through my mobile inbox yesterday with a bowl of Sainsbury's Wholewheat Biscuits in one hand and a cat on my lap (God knows how it got there, as don't own any pets) put a spring in my step that lasted until bedtime. "Oh yes, of course ," I said to myself, "I'm going to die , and something will have to be done with my remains. But would I prefer to decompose over an extended period, or be burnt to a crisp?"  I’m glad I wasn’t eating toast. I'd like to think that I'm a realist. I'm also not particularly squeamish. Perhaps society would be better prepared to face mortality - and the inevitable admin that comes with shuffling off of it - if we didn't sweep these thoughts under the carpet. How will my family know I'd like my corpse to be fired from a cannon into the barrel of a second bigger cann...