October 2023, the first month of my life without my lovely dad. Last night was the first night for three weeks that I have been totally alone: no sisters, no husband, no son, and no dog. Just me in a campervan in the middle of a field in deepest, darkest Suffolk. Just me, my thoughts, and an abundance of hooting owls. I was fine; I enjoyed the solitude.
Dad died at 4:20 pm on Friday, 8th September 2023, at home on the hall floor, peacefully, after seven months of poor health. He had several serious health issues, the most significant of which being terminal heart failure. He was palliative, as if that word alone makes it easier – it doesn’t.
He had three visits to the hospital since March, much to his annoyance. He hated everything about the hospital: the food, the view, the food, the view… His final trip to the hospital on 3rd September was his last. He had collapsed in his bedroom; his blood pressure was dangerously low, so the paramedics took him to the hospital, much to his frustration and annoyance which he was able to express despite being so ill.
We knew we were on a one-way road, but we also knew he wanted to come home for his final days. On 7th September, he held my hand in his hospital bed and said, “Jacq, don’t let me die in here!” We fought to get him home, and it was a fight, a real fight, even though he was palliative.
He travelled home by ambulance on the afternoon of 8th September; he had planned his dinner, a Chinese takeaway. Little did we know that as he ushered the ambulance drivers away, he had entered the last hour of his life. Twenty-five minutes later, he died surrounded by us, our mum, my sisters and me, and a wonderful carer named Alice. It was peaceful; it was quick. He knew he was home, and that is what mattered.
I believe our grief has been “aggravated” as my dear mum has dementia and for the first 48 hours, she kept asking us repeatedly what had happened. “Why am I so sad?” What a cruel disease.
The time between his death and the funeral was odd, numbness, distraction, and overwhelming sadness, sadness so strong it physically hurts.
His funeral was beautiful; the sun shone, the service filled with his music and stories. The wake was fitting, Beef Wellington, no curled-up sandwiches, and stodgy quiche in HIS honour. His favourite music played well into the evening, finishing off with a bit of star-gazing, very fitting for a man who had been Director of ESA and ESOC and project-managed several space exploration missions.
My mum asked one of her granddaughters, “Are we celebrating something?”
Erin replied, “Yes, Grandma, Grandad’s life.”
My sisters and I scattered his ashes in the early hours of 30th September on the bridge between Southwold and Walberswick. He was scattered into the rushing outward tide, disappearing into the inky River Blyth and carried away at speed. The perfect time, the perfect bright moon overhead and a thousand tiny, perfect stars sparkling. A fitting farewell!
I am not a religious person and not especially spiritual either, but there were a couple of things that happened that morning that made me reconsider both. My sisters and I play Wordle each day, and we put our scores on our group WhatsApp chat. That morning I completed Wordle at 4:00 am; the word was “Daddy.” I like to think he was telling us that we were doing the right thing by him.
When we got home, I wanted to know if it was a special moon as it was so big and bright. It was indeed the last harvest moon of the year. We had made the decision not to have dad carried into his service playing Neil Young’s “Harvest Moon” as we weren’t sure if our grief and emotions would take hold. Take five minutes to listen to this beautiful song:
We like to believe that all of this was not just a coincidence; it was a sign and meant to be.
“The Harvest Moon is a special full moon that takes place every year during the autumnal equinox. It’s a time of great spiritual significance, as it marks a period of transition and reflection. This is the perfect time to honour the cycles of life and the changes that come with it.
The spiritual meaning of the Harvest Moon is that of abundance and gratitude. It’s also a time to reflect on the past and plan.
The Harvest Moon has long been associated with the cycle of life and death. It’s a reminder that there is an end to all things, but that new beginnings can always be found. It’s a time to let go of what’s no longer needed and to embrace the new.
The Harvest Moon is also a time of reflection and introspection. It’s a time to look within and connect with your inner self. It’s a time to be grateful for the lessons learned and to recognize the growth that has taken place.
The Harvest Moon is also a time of renewal. It’s a chance to start fresh and to create a new path for yourself. It’s a time to embrace all that you have and to look forward to the new and exciting things that are to come.”
Sophie, Inside My Dream
We had chosen the period of 29th/30th September as his ashes were ready that week; we wanted him to be free. The fact that it was a Harvest Moon was the most beautiful synchronicity.
Yesterday, I returned his clothes which he had been wearing when he died, to his room; they had been carefully washed and ironed. The irony in that makes me smile; I don’t iron unless I must. I opened his room and took a few seconds to inhale his scent; it is still lingering. My dog, Otis, followed me in and just sat looking at Dad’s bed. Otis then lay down and wouldn’t leave. I left him in there for a while.
So where has my resilience been over the past four weeks? Hiding, disappeared? No, it has been gently whirring in the background, allowing me to grieve. I don’t tell everyone I meet, or I work with that my dad has died, but sometimes it just tumbles out, rushing out just like the River Blyth taking dad on his final journey. I only want to talk about him when I want to, so when I am asked, “How are you?” “How are you coping?” I feel the barriers come up, smile, and say, “I am getting there.”
I have found the greatest comfort in just being with my sisters; we have kept Adnams Wineshops in business with the amount of Rosé we have drunk during the past three weeks, and I am now skilled at making the perfect screwdriver (a favourite of Dad’s). We have made a playlist of over ten hours of Dad’s favourite music. I have walked miles with Otis with friends and alone. I have written my sadness down. I have looked at old photos and video clips. I thought I could re-watch the funeral, but I couldn’t, mainly because I couldn’t bear to hear my own voice reading out our tribute to dad. People have sent flowers, cards with beautiful words of comfort in.
A fellow coaching colleague sent me this poem:
When Great Trees Fall
By Maya Angelou
When great trees fall,
rocks on distant hills shudder,
lions hunker down.
in tall grasses,
and even elephants
lumber after safety.
When great trees fall
in forests,
small things recoil into silence,
their senses
eroded beyond fear.
When great souls die,
the air around us becomes.
light, rare, sterile.
We breathe, briefly.
Our eyes, briefly,
see with
a hurtful clarity.
Our memory, suddenly sharpened,
examines,
gnaws on kind words
unsaid,
promised walks
never taken.
Great souls die and
our reality, bound to
them, takes leave of us.
Our souls,
dependent upon their
nurture,
now shrink, wizened.
Our minds, formed
and informed by their
radiance,
fall away.
We are not so much maddened
as reduced to the unutterable ignorance
of dark, cold
caves.
And when great souls die,
after a period peace blooms,
slowly and always
irregularly.
Spaces fill
with a kind of
soothing electric vibration.
Our senses, restored, never
to be the same, whisper to us.
They existed. They existed.
We can be. Be and be
better. For they existed.
Resilience is my thing, and I have found great solace and peace in the work of Lucy Hone. This TED talk is worth your time. It is 15 minutes long, so don’t start watching it until you have the time to watch it in full and time after to process what you have just watched.
Lucy Hone: The three secrets of resilient people | TED Talk Lucy Hone: The three secrets of resilient people | TED Talk
I consider myself to be a resilient person; it is something I have worked on over the years. But being resilient doesn’t mean you can’t or don’t give in to strong emotions and feel them. I have wailed like a madwoman; I have cried silently, and I have just sat with the tears the size of small pebbles running down my face. Being resilient doesn’t mean you push how you feel down into the depths of your soul.
I am not fine or okay at the moment; I am coping.
Resilience is a knowing, a knowing that I will be fine and okay, but not just now and maybe not tomorrow or next week. BUT I do know I will be; I just need to do this at my speed and in my time.
Written in memory of David Charles Dale – our dear Dad.
29th April 1942 – 8th September 2023.
Jacqui Frost 5th October 2023
