Leaving on a Jet Plane

I'm sat in the my Dad's little back bedroom, with the junk that accumulates around someone old and disabled - a power chair, for the increasingly infrequent trips outside the house, a turntable for moving from chair to commode and a collection of cushions and dressings.  My time here is drawing to a close and from my point of view I've achieved a fair bit.  I've begun to establish myself as a funeral celebrant and have carried out my first funeral.  I had thought I'd want to write about this in my blog, but this now feels like a breach of confidence.  Suffice to say it strengthened my conviction that this is work I should be doing and I'm humbled by the trust that the bereaved placed in me.

I've shared a lot of the celebrancy stuff with dad and this has had a positive impact on our relationship as well.  He has been very supportive really and I've also recorded a series of his wishes for what happens when he dies, including what music will be played and that I will lead the service, probably in a local pub.  Dad in my eyes has regained a lot of dignity in the last few months, most of the time he's politely grateful for the care that he gets and patient with his carers.  To me, it's not much of a life, built around the daily highlights of "Bargain Hunt" and "the Chase", but I can see that for him it's still definitely worth living.  It's helped that I'm staying in digs, so I can kiss him on the head and make my escape when his carers come to put him to bed at about 9.00pm.

On Friday I will leave him for new adventures and will not return, all being well, until March next year.  And yet I will be sad to leave him, knowing that he'll be wondering if he'll see me again.