On 3rd September I locked the kitchen door to dad's bungalow for the last time and dropped the key through the letterbox for the new owners. The last two weeks had been very hectic clearing the house, finalising my new digs in Lincoln and doing all the paperwork associated with selling a home. One of the things I'll miss is looking out on his garden and it's suburban wildlife.
Oddly, in those last few days I'd had a regular guest - my friend Patrick, who is doing some work in Doncaster - and it was good to have some company. I guess this is another stage in the process of grieving for dad and letting go. If I'm honest I have been hiding out a bit surrounded by his stuff and it's been strangely comforting.
In a final irony the pear tree in the back garden, which he tried so hard to kill a few years back, is now groaning under the weight of fruit. In the last few days of my occupation I munched away at one or two a day and I've taken a couple with me. Eating those may perhaps feel like some kind of final act of goodbye.
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