It’s been four weeks since I said goodbye to my dad, Bob, following a short but cruel illness. Although his passing in a way was expected you never really want to let a loved one go. We say we do, but it’s not true. I am grateful that his suffering is ended, but oh my gosh, I shall and do miss him.
My father was a key influence in my life as a daughter and as a writer. He was my biggest advocate, my most loyal fan. And he had been from my very early days of childhood when I was bullied at primary school for being ‘teachers pet’ because I loved to read and write.
We spoke every week on the phone or by FaceTime (he became an iPad fan in his eighth decade) in-between his visits to stay with us here in Italy. He never failed to ask how I was progressing on my current WiP and he was the first to purchase new releases for family and friends, including the anthologies published by my writing group, Writers Abroad.
His attention to detail, almost pedantic at times, his perfect handwriting, his love of lists and ticking off, his witty observations and his ability to laugh at himself will be sorely missed. As will his dedication and faith to his five, very individual, children and his belief in our hopes and dreams.
We have chosen the Alzheimers Society to receive donations in his memory because of his unfailing devotion to our Mum who died five years ago. Now I hope that their souls are reunited, somewhere. Mum will have her memory back and be bossing him around and he will be able to eat and drink Talisker whiskey to his hearts content.
The publication of my next novel will obviously be delayed, but published it will be. Dad would not expect anything less.