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 learnt a lot from his perspective that day, and I know we had a solid relationship.
Today confirmed I'm an Ephgrave. My dad's brother, my aunt and my cousins are all looking out for me on my dad's behalf and I'm grateful for that. They've been kind in the face of difficult circumstances and gave me good advice. I'm sure my dad would appreciate this too.
