Since You've Been Gone

Dad's favourite flowers - roses and freesias.

Me outside the chapel

Peterborough Crematorium

20 Years' Ago
It is 20 years today since my Dad died of a heart attack.

20 years is a very long time and so much has happened since then, most importantly, the birth of Calum and Lola. My greatest regret is that he never knew his grandchildren - because he would have adored them.

Early Closing
So this morning I went to the crematorium for my ritual annual visit to look at the Book of Remembrance.

But somehow it all went wrong.

I was tired, so didn't get up as early as I meant to.

I had to call at Sainsbury's to buy some flowers and ended up wasting time looking round and then standing in a queue.

Which meant that we arrived just as they were locking the chapel. Apparently it closes at 12.30pm at weekends and on Bank Holidays, as if people have to ration their grieving to fit in with working hours.

I was more annoyed than disappointed.

Annoyed that the man I spoke to didn't show a bit of compassion and let me into the chapel for a few minutes.

Annoyed that I'd taken too long to get there and so missed the chapel by seconds.

Annoyed that this was the most significant visit, being the 20 year anniversary, and, potentially my last. Although I've said that before and still felt the need to go the following year.

It wasn't a wasted journey, though. I left his favourite flowers in a vase on the wall. They looked lovely in the sunshine.

I looked at the Book of Remembrance through the window - it had been turned round specially - and saw Dad's name there with the date of his birth and death. Even though I've seen it many times, it still makes my stomach lurch.

'Loved and remembered always' it reads. How true.

Still With Me
It seems strange that after 20 years you can still feel the physical presence of someone who has long been gone, but my Dad was a huge part of my life.

Death cannot diminish his love for me, nor mine for him.

I still feel close to him and can conjure him up in my mind at will. I can still hear his voice and picture him as clearly as if he were standing next to me.

He is still with me.

He always will be.