Reflections

It’s almost August. In Scotland, we’ve scarcely had a summer, but the seasons have moved on since winter and since last Christmas Eve when my dad died. While he was ill in hospital and me and my family were on a rollercoaster of hope and despair, I wrote several stories about my beautiful dad and I’m very grateful that nearly all of these have now been published. The piece that was published in Sixpence Society (see above image) was written and submitted when my Dad was alive. The email from the journal saying they wanted to publish it arrived only days before his funeral. The journal was published on the 6-month anniversary of his death.

My dad loved the word ‘serendipity’. I love the word ‘synchronicity’. The two words are descriptions of the same.

Another story, Into the light of the dark black night, appeared in Northern Gravy at about the same time. I grew up in Scotland and I was born in Yorkshire so the North has strong ties with who and what I am. And who and what I am is very much down to my dad. This extends far beyond biology and genetics, but connects to deep-rooted values and ethics. While I don’t share my dad’s Christian faith, his solid yet quiet sense of faith has made a lasting impact on me – the rebel, the anarchist, the woman who finally made it through the doors of AA in 2014 – inspired and supported by a man who didn’t judge me, but gave me his unspoken blessing as he always did.

Into the light of the dark black night is a line taken from the Beatles’ Blackbird, a song my dad loved and a band he introduced to me as a baby. Revolver is the first vinyl record I can remember and me and my brother and sister thought my dad looked like George Harrison at a time when both were young, even if this realisation was only made in hindsight.

The story published in Sixpence Society is called A Time of Confidences, the title taken from Simon and Garfunkel’s Bookends. Towards the end of my dad’s life, my stepmother took a CD player into the hospital. I turned up with Simon and Garfunkel Live in Central Park, a concert which, in 1982, me and my brother and sister recorded on video and watched again and again and again. We were one of the first families I knew to have a video and this was courtesy of my Dad, one of the founders of the Glasgow Media Group who did groundbreaking research into media bias. My dad taught me critical thinking from the age of dot.

I put on Simon and Garfunkel in my dad’s hospital room. ‘Do you like the music?’ I asked. ‘Yes, I do,’ he said, smiling and alert. ‘Yes, I do.’

On that final Christmas Eve, I went to visit my dad with my daughter. His breathing was very difficult. His eyes darted between our faces and I played Simon and Garfunkel to make the atmosphere as light and happy as possible. The nurses had quietly warned me he was going to die but I hadn’t listened to the subtext. They told me I didn’t have to wear protective clothing even though my dad now had Covid. They advised me that this would, of course, be at my own risk. They told me the one visitor rule no longer applied. I was oblivious to the meaning.

It sounds corny but truth is always stranger than fiction. Slip Sliding Away was playing when my dad began to lose his grasp on the living. He brought up a substance from his mouth which suddenly allowed his breath to clear. A nurse came in and lowered the sides of his bed. ‘Just sit with him,’ she said.

If memories are all we’re left with, then I have a thousand moments of joy which I can preserve for the remainder of my own life. I have years of love for and from a man who instilled all the good things in me. My beliefs and the things I fight for are the values he shared with me: human rights, freedom of speech, equality, and social justice.

My father might not have been perfect, but he came a close second. My father might not have been perfect, but I am blessed to have him as my dad. My father might not have been perfect, but as a wise and compassionate human being with an endless capacity to share, I cannot fault him.

Links to stories for and about my dad:

https://sixpencesociety.wixsite.com/journal/issues-pdf

Into the light of the dark black night by Lizzie Eldridge

Two Stories

https://www.canva.com/design/DAFbVc9A360/gnmiU754wArv0VB3i1NNcw/view?utm_content=DAFbVc9A360&utm_campaign=designshare&utm_medium=link&utm_source=publishsharelink#108