'In the living years' .. Paul Carrack

By denni1
- 2576 reads
I didn't want to go. Dad knew, understood and couldn't have cared less about his funeral. He believed that when you die, that was it, fineeto. I had told my sister years ago, l could never face his funeral. I wanted to remember him as my wee dad, East End of London born, Wee Lenny ..
I found my dad lying in between his bed and the bedside cabinet. His head was bleeding and he was frozen stiff. I covered him up with a blanket, but l knew not to move him. I still see his sad, frightened face. The stroke face. How incredible it goes, that lop sided thing.
Oh, if only l'd looked in on him, like l normally did when l came home. I was drunk from my end of panto party. Maybe l could have stopped his suffering. It was a Sunday in mid January, and l had the worlds biggest hangover. Oh boy ..
Wee Lenny had suffered, all right, and after a couple of years of him getting physiotherapy etc etc, he passed away at my sister's place in French France. It's a loooong story, as all family tales are, but to this day 3 years on, l am still haunted by that episode of bullying and emotional blackmail from that woman in France.
I wish wish wish, 3 wishes, that l could go back to that time when l travelled over to be with my dad after a phone call to say he was in hospital. After a few days, he was gone. Y'know, we had had a huge fight, and l was powerless back then. Different story now. All the carry on with his bloomin' funeral and throw lots of alcohol and childhood baggage in the mix. BAM. A lethal cocktail of anger, hurt, shame, greed and jealousy. Not a healthy combination.
We don't have anything to do with each other now, although l did receive both a Xmas and birthday card from her. They were put in the bin. She told me 6 months ago when l called to make up, that l sucked her dry, and she would never, ever be in the same room as me again!
I guess l did rely on her sometimes to talk things through, but surely all sisters share thoughts?
As you know from my writing, our 'mother' killed herself when l was 13 and my sister was 18, living in London at the time. We both have horrendously sad pasts, but apparently l still live happily stuck in mine, wheras she's moved on with her beloved husband by her side. Smug, l think it's called ..
Oh well
I wish wish l hadn't seen the coffin, that warm urn, and her sanctimonious face that hot and pretty July day.
Time to let it all go ..
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Comments
There's a book in you, babe,
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I've known many people with
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Gaining spiritual strength
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Denise, Interesting...I
Bill Rayburn
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Good stuff out of bad stuff
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Been away for a few days Den
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