Six years ago today the Pater made his last, grand entrance, blown into the crematorium on the shoulders of four sturdy but bedraggled pall bearers, amid a flurry of horizontal rain, hail, wind and leaves. How those men didn’t drop him I will never know.
It was a horrible day in almost every respect, but even then my dad raised one last smile as the Mater, WeeSis and I looked at each other and knew what we were thinking – “Yes, that’s him arrived”. I could even hear him framing one last story, about the time he was in a PROPER storm that time on a ship in the Indian Ocean. He would have enjoyed the attention.
I’m not sure who it was who first renamed Cyclone Friedhelm to Hurricane Bawbag but it was another way to make the day memorable. And sitting here, looking out at the still, cloudless blue sky that is Storm Caroline, I can’t help thinking that we can’t even do bad weather properly nowadays.
Dad would have been out cutting the grass by now.