Dad

Dad was in my dreams last night:O) But he looked sad.

I ran up and hugged him. Woke up sobbing. It doesn't get any easier for me, the emptiness.

Another anniversary today. It's sad that he and Junior never met in life but I'm sure he watches over her. She has his habit of whistling:O)..and cats always make a beeline for her, just as they did for him. She's a nightbird like him, too. He would always be last up, usually giving the dogs biscuit snacks in the kitchen. They'd be sat side by side, waiting while he lobbed one up for them so they'd catch the titbits. Cilla does that....munches biscuits at night:o)

He once made a dove house for this stray bird that Mother ended up with somehow. This was a big thing, 'cos Dad was not a diy person at all. But, remarkably, the contraption looked good and stayed upright!!! Anyway, bird always ended up kipping in the main house at night, though. Dad was just one of those people who was kind to animals. He witnessed lots of bad things during WW2. When he was captured and put in a pow camp, that was bad. And in the refugee camps ...people used to eat anything to stay alive, including animals that nowadays and even then, we regard as pets...like cats, dogs, etc. So, he'd never ever eat stew, which I presume is how people ate such meat then, to conceal the real identity. Eeeew. He just never could face the gravy bit. I never cottoned on to this for years. So, nowadays, even I don't cook stews....of any meat kind.

I can remember, as a child, Dad being ill..because of the war experience. Nights of listening to him screaming. Many a time I thought he would diethere and then. This post war stress stuff.
Even years after, he still suffered from a bullet wound in his hip. It never healed properly. So, he got Mother to clean it out. He collapsed on the street and a bloke came to the house and said that he needed Mother. She went and found him collapsed, unable to walk because of pain and infection of the ongoing wound. He wouldn't let the doctors near it because of it never healing right. He only trusted Mother.

Anyway, Mother set out to clean it out properly, once and for all. She said she was shit scared. Never had done anything like this, but Dad was on the point of death. We were poor so all she had was clean sheets, hot water, bandages, scissors, tweezers and Dettol. My Gran was having heart failure, apparently, at the mere thought of her doing this, but there was no choice as Dad was in agony. So, he bit on something while Mother did the deed. Turns out that there was still some gunpowder residue left in the wound. It was like glitter, apparently. She had to dig right down to the bone to clear it all....and then cleaned and padded the wound out. Dad slept for days, recovering from his ordeal. Slowly, the wound eventually healed. It was a massive hole. No wonder Dad was in permanent pain. Mother probably saved him, because he would have been slowly poisoned by all the badness caused by the bullet residue never mind the pain!!

We were supposed to go down to Mother's this afternoon, but I needed my space. We went in the evening. Mother knew why. No words needed for once!!!

The birds still keep him company:o) Even in death, they're drawn to him. They just sort of leave their mark on the headstone. Bit like a calling card, I suposse. lol