Now my Dad was a little squirrel, ISA's here, insurances there, he dabbled in shares, he fiddled with money, it was his thing, it made him happy.
oh I do miss him terribly.
Anyway I hadn't given today much though really, it was all about supporting mum and that was fine until they slapped a form down in front of me with big black shouting letters on it saying 'The Late John Howard Watson'
That's the trouble with death, the death part isn't the end of it. It creeps up behind you pantomime like when your not looking BOO!! I swear its laughing.
Reminds me of the time i got stung on the bum by a bee. I was in an important meeting, my sparkliest self on display and the damn thing flew undetected up my skirt and took its best shot. It was not a moment to show weakness so with heroic composure I excused myself straight faced and unsussed to 'fetch some paperwork' The pain was immense and the little bugga 'got it' as soon as I was out of sight I can tell you.
This coming to terms with death business feels just like being stung on the bottom by a bee, when your least expecting it.
How odd to take his name off things, like he's disappearing bit by little bit. And odd for my mother too, there she was a 'Mrs' with a joint bank account and slowly she's becoming just her, on her own. It was the same at my uncles funeral, I looked across at my Auntie holding court with all 'their' friends and now just her, alone surrounded by people.
Death is so cruel, I wish I could make some new armour and wrap us all up in it, to protect us from these sudden wall closing in moments that were still getting.
Today my armour has fallen off and rolled under the sofa.