Sunday 18th December 2011
My Christmas break was planned to start on Thursday 22nd. I had been going up to Rainhill most weekends for quite some time, as it was either mum or dad was in poor health or some other concern. I took this weekend off to catch up with chores and shopping. I spent the morning clearing the garden of weeds that had grown unhindered since about August. Shameful, I know and I was about to go to the local discount warehouse to get some screws and plugs to put up some wire to trail the wisteria along. I got a text message from my brother, saying he had a call from John Paul Jones nursing home, where dad is saying he is not well and then I set off for the shops. Coming back on the bike via Tesco, to get Steve some blackcurrant squash, with a wooden broom staith I was going to use for the wisteria, the mobile phone rang as I was on my bike. Call was from Mum and was surprised to hear Nick. “He’s died”, he said, dad had died. Poor Nick had not got there in time, but time enough for the priest to come and administer last rights, or what ever it is called, and then he passed away or so the nurse said. Nick was taken into see dad and when I got home the next day, Nick was waiting at the station in the rain for me.
My poor old dad.
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