FATHER
Get rid of him. I said get rid of him! I cant bear to look at him anymore. And I cant stand this mess. Our house feels like some sort of charity home. If you dont take him somewhere, I dont know what Ill do. I… I just dont know, I could strangle him. Or or maybe Ill leave myself. Ill leave you, David! I cant do this anymore! Jane sobbed, letting her head fall into her hands. She cried loudly and for a long while, wailing the way women sometimes do, unable to contain her emotion. When shed finished, she sprang up, cast a dark look at me, and rushed out of the room.
I watched my elderly father, feeling lost. He sat quietly on a chair, head bowed, knotted hands resting on his lap, covered with age spots. He was silent, flinching with every sharp word Jane threw at him, as though each one was a blow.
Dad, when I grow up, will I be as strong as you? I remember asking him as a boy, peering up at him.
Of course you will, son. Youll be even stronger than me. Children always outdo their parents, he said, smiling.
I remember us fishing together my first attempt with a rod, bumbling, catching my first little fish. I was ecstatic, squealing and laughing, and my dads joy for me was clear.
First day of school, nervous as can be, my hand shaking while holding a bouquet for the teacher. But Dad was by my side, and suddenly it wasnt so scary.
A blazing summer, learning to ride my first bike. Awkward turn, into the ditch. Skinned knees, a bruised elbow, tears streaming down. Dad came running, scooped me up, held me tight and carried me home. He dabbed my wounds with antiseptic, blew gently, and smiled.
Itll be healed before youre married, son. Its nothing to worry about.
Years went by. Graduation, merriment. My first taste of whisky, and a stern talk from Dad the next morning.
Son, that isnt what makes you a man, you know? Actions, character, thats what counts. That stuff? Its rubbish. Got it?
I nodded, embarrassed. I wish I could have told him I understood.
University entrance exams. Dad was every bit as anxious as me, staying awake nights. He stood outside while I took my tests, came with me to look at the list of names. When he saw mine, he clutched his chest in pain. Mum and I rushed to him, but he stopped us with a glance.
Mum was still alive then She passed away barely a year later, quietly, as shed always lived. At the graveyard, when everyone else had gone, Dad and I stood together under the rain. I was the first to take his hand.
Come on, Dad. Lets go.
I wanted to say, just as Dad always had, Its nothing. Itll pass. But words stuck in my throat. He was never quite the same afterwards. He seemed to shrink, as if some invisible weight had settled on his shoulders. He was already not young. I was his second child, born late my half-sister lived up north in Newcastle. Id only met her a handful of times. That was Dads past, his first family, his pain. I arrived when Dad was nearly fifty.
Memories hit me like lightning bolts, and hurt so much my chest ached. Just as Dads had once ached I rubbed at it, feeling it pass.
I finished university and moved from our hometown in Norwich to London. Got myself a good job at a leading engineering firm, met a girl. We filed our wedding notice. I was happy, in love, and hadnt seen Dad in ages, kept calling him though. And Dad always said the same thing.
Im fine, son, absolutely fine. Coping well, Im not that old, you know. Wedding, is it? Wonderful, Ill come for sure.
We were set to have the wedding at an upmarket restaurant. The tables were piled high, the brides gown stunning. All very impressive, and I could afford it.
Dad arrived, and I was shocked by how much hed changed. Before me stood an old man, hunched, wrinkled, completely grey-haired.
I introduced him to Jane. Dad got flustered, unsure whether to hug or shake hands or kiss. He ended up bowing awkwardly and blushing even more.
Jane wrinkled her nose, turned to me: David, what is he wearing? Its embarrassing. We must get rid of those clothes, immediately. Do you hear me?
We went shopping, bought Dad a suit, he changed. In the taxi home, he was quiet, lips pressed tight. When we arrived, he looked at me with sad eyes.
Are you ashamed of me, son?
No, Dad, of course not! Jane, well, you know women she’s from London, used to everything being well, presentable, I guess.
Dad stayed for three days, in our new three-bedroom flat, barely. He sat on the edge of the sofa, never could get used to the sushi Jane served, and packed up to leave on the third day. I caught myself sighing with relief
Life in London swept me up: family, work, restaurants, friends, traffic jams Its all go, all bustle. I called Dad less and less, sometimes just dropped him a message on WhatsApp, hardly read his replies, always busy.
One evening, the phone rang and startled me out of my routine. It was Dads neighbour.
Hello, David. Im Mrs Finch your Dads neighbour. David, please come get your Dad. Hes not well at all. Hes gotten lost twice, doesnt even remember himself. First time, I ran into him at the shop, but he didnt recognise me. Can you imagine? Second time, someone found him on the train, going who knows where. Hes walking around hungry, gave his pension to someone, I checked his fridge, theres barely anything inside. Hes dirty, unkempt. Honestly, its awful Please take him hell perish if you dont.
I hung up and called my older sister, Emily, in Newcastle, explained frantically. Her reply was curt.
And why should I, David? He left us, I havent seen him in decades, dont want to know him. Im not young, I cant play nurse either, we dont have room. Not like you in London. I wont even discuss it, alright? Sort it out yourselves
I sat in the kitchen till dark, thinking. I didnt know how to tell Jane that I wanted to bring Dad to live with us.
Jane listened, sighed: David, what about a care home? Or a carer, something like that?
Jane, how can I put him in a care home? Hell be better off with family, surely. I think it wont be for long. Hell get better, and we can take him back.
I brought Dad home three days later.
The first mishap happened next day: Dad flooded the neighbours downstairs, left the tap running. The neighbour phoned me, screeching like a banshee. Sorting the water damage cost me a pretty penny their repairs werent cheap.
Then came broken plates, soaked bedding, food scattered around, doors left open, all the joys of elderly confusion
Jane, Jane I tried to comfort her, rubbing her shoulder. Alright, well look into the care home. Is that what you want?
Yes! I want that! she glared at me, eyes red from crying. I cant do this, David. Im exhausted. Its hell, do you understand?
Next morning, I rang around several care homes and settled on one that seemed suitable.
The day after, I drove Dad to his new place, gathering his few belongings. He sat next to me in the car, quite cheerful, pointing out every passing car, clapping his hands, waving at pedestrians. He was like a child, almost not here, not in this time.
I filled out all the forms, paid the fees a good sum in pounds listened to the manager praise their excellent facilities, then went to say goodbye to Dad. He stood in his new room, facing the window. When I entered, he spun round and smiled smiled broadly, with a confidence I hadnt seen for years. I froze, and for a moment, saw my brave, strong father as he used to be. But only for a moment
Well son, goodbye. No need for farewells? Dad faded back into his familiar, helpless self.
I left, head down, choking back tears
The next day, the care home phoned. A woman, official voice, emotionless: Dad had died overnight, heart attack.
The news landed while I was still at home, about to leave for work. I placed the phone down and sat on the bed, in my pressed expensive trousers. The TV was on, the coffee machine buzzed in the kitchen, summer raged outside, life went on. And yet, one person had simply ceased to exist.
Thats all. Thats all. Thats all echoed in my head. I remembered Dads last words and understood. He knew. He felt it. He wanted to say goodbye
I hid my face in my hands and wept.
Sometimes, busy with London life, Id forgotten how much Dad had shaped me, how much I owed him. Now, I understand: time flies, and the moments we ignore can never be reclaimed. It taught me, painfully, that the end comes quietly. Cherish your loved ones theres no tomorrow we can count on.
