Just about the last thing I expected to hear on August 27th 2008 was the news that my father had died.  Yes, we knew that he had heart problems, but the medical folk seemed to feel that he was in reasonable health, under the circumstances.  Hence the unexpected nature of his passing.  What follows could I suppose be called a "diary of emotion", to give you an insight into the many and varied emotions that I felt from that day onwards.  But this isn't just a story of sadness and grief, there is some humour and light relief along the way too ...

Wednesday 27th August

This day was a gloomy and overcast day - the last few summers in the UK have not been good to those who like sunshine and warmth.  The first part of the morning was spent dealing with one of our more naive customers, and that meant taking part in a 45-minute phone call to Belgium.  Anyway, we got that sorted out and then I moved on to another rather tedious task, sorting out some data for the Yucca Mountain work that we were doing at the time.  At 11:45 am I decided that it was time to go off for lunch (I always have early lunches) and was just getting ready to drive home to have it.  Then the phone rang.

On the other end of the phone was my mother.  Now, when my mother calls, it is usually to ask some embarrassing question or other, and since I work in an open plan office, I decided to turn the handset volume down, so that my colleagues in the office couldn't hear what she was saying.  My mother announced that she had some very bad news.  My thought at that time was that something must have happened to Tess, but then she told me that my father had died that morning.

When I heard her say that, the words entered my brain, but they were so unexpected that they didn't properly register.  I asked my mother to repeat what she had just said, and so she repeated the message.  She explained that he had been out walking the dog, and he had got about 1/2 mile and had then collapsed.  He was rushed to hospital in the air ambulance, but was dead on arrival.

I think at this point my body went slightly into auto-pilot, as if instinct were taking over.  I thanked my mother for telling me and told her that I would be there as soon as possible.  I hung up the phone and sat at my desk, trying to digest the information that had been given to me.  I kept thinking to myself "my father died this morning".  But those words just elicited the same response back from my brain:  "surely that can't be true, there's no way my father can be dead".  But clearly some part of my brain believed it to be true, because I could feel myself starting to shake slightly, and I was starting to feel detached from what was happening around me in the office.  I'm sure you know the feeling that I'm talking about.

At that point, my boss Dave came over to discuss some work-related issue.  That was good, as it broke me out of my trance and I told him that I needed to speak to him in private.  Dave is a very perceptive guy, and could tell that something was wrong.  We went into a meeting room and I told him the news.  He immediately told me to go home and to not come back until I was ready.  He also said that he would call the various people I was working for at that time to let them know what was happening.  He also cautioned against driving straight back to see my mother, that I should go home instead and sort myself out first.

I told my line manager Lee what had happened, and also a colleague who was expecting something from me.  Everyone was very sympathetic.  Of course, one would not expect anything else from work colleagues, but nevertheless I was touched by how kind people were.

At this point I decided it was time to go home, with my mind still unable to grasp the news that I'd been told 10 minutes earlier.  My mobile phone rang as I was walking to the car, but I didn't answer, as I really didn't feel like talking to anyone else at that point.  To be honest, I just wanted to get home and be alone, and to try and grasp what was going on.  Part of my brain was still refusing to accept the news, but the other part was saying "something bad has happened, and you're going to have to deal with it - whether you want to or not".  I also took the opportunity to inform my penpals about what had happened.

I drove home and had my lunch.  It turned out that it was my brother calling my mobile, and so I called him back.  Judging from what he said and how he said it, I think his feelings and mood were the same as mine.  Up to this point, I had felt no real emotion or sadness, and that feeling continued during the afternoon.  I just sat in my living room thinking the same thought to myself - my father is dead, how could this have happened?  Surely it's not true?  I felt that I should be feeling some emotion, but at that point, a few hours after hearing the news, none would come.  I watched some comedy on TV to take my mind off things.

I took the opportunity to call my mother and tell her that I would come round tomorrow.  She sounded reasonably calm and in control, and she had our next door neighbour sitting with her to keep her company.  I got some more information from her about what had happened.  It seems that some kind soul had seen what happened, and called an ambulance and the police.  Tess (the dog) was found wandering around and the police had brought her back home.

During the course of the afternoon, both Connie and Marion telephoned to pass on their condolences.  It was good of them to call and I appreciated it.

I decided that I needed something to drink that evening, so I went out and bought a bottle of white wine.  That was the catalyst that was required to bring on the emotion.  I decided that I would put a tribute to my father on my website.  I sorted out a photo and put it on the home page, with a simple RIP caption underneath.  Then I wrote a diary entry (which of course is still there) and that started the tears flowing.  I think the alcohol from the wine suppressed the mood that I was in previously, and allowed me to feel and appreciate for the first time what had happened.  I don't advocate drinking as a response to bad news, but in this case it did the job.  So, for the first time in years, I cried.  And I felt much better for it, and with a greater acceptance of what had happened.

Surprisingly, I slept fine overnight.

Thursday 28th August

I woke up the nest day knowing that this was going to be one of the hardest days of my life, as I was going to go back to where my father lived, and see all his things and finally come to terms with what had happened.

I set off on the 45 mile drive from Didcot to Shipston at about 9 am in the morning, to avoid the worst of the traffic heading into work.  Most of the journey was fine, in fact I listened to some CDs on the way, so help pass the time.  But as I started to get close to Shipston, I could feel emotion welling up inside me.  I can think of no obvious trigger for this.  I suppose it happened because I knew I was starting to approach my father's territory, and that I would soon be seeing things that were intimately connected with him - but I wouldn't be seeing him.

I think the worst part was when I approached the house, and saw his car parked in the drive.  That has been a very familiar sight to me over the years, since I usually visited my parents at the weekends.  But now I was seeing his car in the drive once again, but I knew I wouldn't be seeing him.  It also crossed my mind that I wouldn't be seeing him drive the car again.  I parked up and I could feel the tears welling up inside me.  I went inside the house and my mother was there, looking totally wiped out.

At that point, I couldn't hold the tears in any longer, and of course as soon as I started crying, so did my mother.  We hugged each other, which we haven't done for many years.  I walked around the house, getting the emotion out.  Then, maybe 10 minutes later, I managed to get myself under control as the outpouring of emotion came to an end.  So did my mother.

There is no question that, while an outpouring of emotion like that is not pleasant, it has great therapeutic value.  After I had got rid of my emotion, I felt much better and under control with the situation.  It is almost as though the emotional outpouring assists in coming to terms with what has happened.  It's as though the human instinct knows how to cope with these situations, and it takes over when we ourselves are unsure of what we should do.

My mother and I went out to Moreton-in-Marsh to get some fish and chips for lunch.  We didn't chat very much along the way, I think each of us had our own thoughts and feelings that we wanted to ponder as we were driving along.  However, we were both under control at all times.

It was around this time - mid-afternoon - that feelings started to turn from total shock and disbelief about what had happened, through to some sort of acceptance that the "old man" is gone, and that things will not be the same again.  My thoughts turned from disbelief to a kind of affectionate memory of what my father was like and some of his foibles.  Barely a minute passed by where he wasn't in my thoughts.

In the late afternoon I had a phone call from Sharon, who was noticeably upset at the turn of events.  As was the case with Connie and Marion, it was very good to hear from her and it was a typically nice gesture from her to call.

During the afternoon, Rob and his girlfriend Wendy came down from Leeds.  Both were subdued, but it was good to have more family members present, and more people to talk to.  It also lifted the atmosphere in the house somewhat.  Even though my thoughts had turned to affectionate memories of my father, there were still plenty of times when one part of my brain would run the thought "my father is dead" through my mind, and another part of my brain would respond "you can't be serious, it's not true".  After all, he had died less than 36 hours earlier.

The evening was more light-hearted with all of us present.  My brother brought down a load of "My Name is Earl" DVDs, and we watched some of those and enjoyed a few drinks too.  At one point Wendy rather misjudged the mood of the moment, by continually making rather soppy and sentimental comments about my father.  That might sound an odd thing for me to criticise, but it just wasn't appropriate at the time and I could see it was starting to upset my mother.  It just seemed wrong because we were having a much-needed lighter moment at that time, and Wendy was pulling us back into a feeling of sadness and grief.  On the other hand, Wendy meant no harm, and everyone copes with these things in their own way.

Seeing Rob and Wendy helped enormously, and as I went to bed I couldn't help feeling that the problems of the world were on Rob's shoulders at that time, as his businesses were struggling a little, and now he had all this to cope with when he should have been looking after his business interests.  But Rob is a man and he has broad shoulders.

Friday 29th August

My mother had arranged for the undertaker to come today, to sort out the funeral arrangements.  At about 11 am in the morning a very smart and sober young man called George came to call, from Locke and Son undertakers.  Surprisingly, discussing the arrangements with George was not a sad business, and we did have a few laughs and jokes along the way.  These started when it was clear we didn't have enough chairs to seat all five of us, and so it was decided that George would have to sit on Wendy's knee!  Needless to say, we found an extra chair for him!

The meeting with George lasted about an hour, during which we discussed my father's wishes to be cremated, what music should be played at the cremation, and various other arrangements.  We decided that there would be no hymns at the cremation, since we are all such bad singers that it would spoil the dignity of the occasion!  Instead we decided that we would have one his favourite pieces of music played, Take Five by the Dave Brubeck Quartet.  We chose a medium-priced coffin for him, noting that my father was a frugal man (to put it politely) and he would not have appreciated a very fancy coffin!  The cremation was arranged for Friday 5th September.  Finally, we arranged that we would go and see my father on the Saturday morning.

The meeting with George made me realise that, no matter how sad and solemn the occasion, it is necessary to retain a sense of humour, and if you find something amusing, then there is no reason why you shouldn't enjoy some laughter and light-heartedness.  Because if you don't, and are permanently immersed in sadness and grief, then you run the risk of going mad.  They say that life must go on, and it was perhaps around this time that my own thoughts turned to this.  I decided that I would go back into work on the following Monday, and I phoned Dave my boss and told him this.

The rest of the day was spent in a similarly light vein, possibly because we knew that tomorrow was going to be a testing day.

Saturday 30th August

This was a difficult day, because we went to see my father at the undertakers.  We arranged to go and see him at 11 am, and all was quiet and subdued in the house up to that time.  My own mood was one of not quite knowing what to expect - apart from the fact that it would not be good.  I had never seen a dead body before, and the first one I was going to see was my own father.

Young George, the day before, had told us that, because my father had suffered heart failure, he would have some colour to his cheeks, and there would also be some marks on his face where the paramedics had tried to revive him.  I must admit, this did not make me feel any easier about what was to come!

At about 10:30 am we started to get ready for the 10-minute journey to the undertakers.  My brother got dressed in full suit attire, but the rest of us dressed causally.  The drive to the undertaker is a very simple and quick one, through Shipston and out into the country for a few minutes, before arriving at the village of Brailles.  Nobody said anything on the journey.  After all, what was there to say?  I had already been out on the Friday to check the location of the undertakers, to make sure that we didn't have to ask for directions or anything like that, and as we approached the entrance and drove in, my stomach started to churn.

We were greeted by a guy who turned out to be young George's grandfather.  The first thing he wanted us to do was to take the things that my father had on him when he died, and to sign for them.  Then he said to us "if you'd come this way, Mr Kelly is in here", gesturing to the room where my father was laid out.  He told us we could stay as long as we wanted, and to just leave when we wanted to.

So we went into the room, and I immediately felt the emotion well up inside me.  I think it was with some apprehension that we approached the coffin that was set out on a table in the middle of the room.  Lying in the coffin was my father's body, dressed in the clothes that my mother had sorted out when young George came to visit the previous day.  From a factual perspective, he looked just like my father, lying there with his eyes shut and totally at peace.  In fact, you would never see any living person looking so calm and peaceful.  I didn't see any evidence of the colour or facial marking that George had warned us about, and in fact he looked slightly younger than I remembered from the last time I saw him.

From an emotional perspective, it was very hard to see him lying there, and needless to say, tears were shed by Rob, my mother and me.  I did try to suppress mine, to try and stay in control for the benefit of the others, but I simply could not stop them from coming.  I noticed that my brother slipped a written note into my father's lapel pocket, but it occurred to me that he would never see what it said, and that brought on fresh emotion.  When I touched my father's face, I was amazed at just how cold his body was.  After about five minutes of standing next to him, we all moved away and tried to compose ourselves before setting off home.  That took longer than you might think - probably about 15 minutes in total.  That's how long it took for the tears to stop coming.

Two aspects of mild humour occurred during this visit.  For one thing, it occurred to me - amid all the sadness - that if my father suddenly sat up and opened his eyes, who would be first out of the room and running for the hills?  Second, my brother had severe trouble with the tissues he was using to wipe his eyes, and was amused to note that he had tissue all over his face after wiping his eyes!  My father would have appreciated that humour, so no worries there!

After a total of about 20 minutes there, we all went and said our final farewells and set off home.  No doubt this had been a very difficult experience, but one that definitely had to be done.  My mother once noted that she had not been to see her mother after she died, and she had regretted it ever since.  We had the choice not to see my father, and no doubt that would have been easier in the short term, but I'm glad that I went to see him.  I think Rob and my mother felt the same way too.

From this point on, life got easier.  It turned out that seeing my father was the last time that I had a serious outpouring of emotion.  I can only conclude that shedding emotion in the way that I had over the last few days is by far the best way to accept what has happened, and that this provides the basis for being able to move on with life.  There was still a part of me that was questioning "has this really happened?", but I felt that I had done my major grieving and that I had a basis now to move on.

On Sunday I went back down to Didcot, ready to return to work on the Monday.

Monday 1st September - Thursday 4th September

I spent these days back at work, and it was nice to find that my colleagues were all very sympathetic, and willing to help if I needed it.  Sometimes scientists can be seen as very cold and impersonal, but not on this occasion.

It was very nice, in some ways, to get back to work and have something to take my mind off thinking about my father.  In part this was because in the few days that I had been away, I had quite a backlog of things to do, and the sooner you get started on such backlogs, the sooner you get them cleared.  Plus, as I noted above, there was still a part of me that was unable to comprehend what had happened.  Even after all of the emotion of the previous few days, the issue had not been settled in some parts of my brain, so I would find myself sitting at work still thinking the same thought:  "I just can't believe that this has happened".

On Thursday afternoon I travelled back to Shipston, to prepare for the cremation the following day.  As I was travelling back, it occurred to me that, in these situations, people often regret not saying certain things to loved ones who have died.  It occurred to me that there are various things that I could have said to my father, but the thought did not really cause me any distress.  I was comfortable in my own mind that there was no "unfinished business" or "things that really should have been said" between me and my father.

Friday 5th September

I woke up today and looked out of the window to see that it was pouring with rain - not exactly the ideal weather to attend a cremation.  However, my feelings at this time were not of any great sadness of distress.  Instead, I had a more workman-like feeling, that we were going to have a formal ceremony that would be the time to properly say goodbye to my father.

The funeral was arranged for 1:45 pm, which we all agreed was not the greatest of times, since we would be sitting around for some time before we set off for the crematorium.  In situations like that it is hard to know what to do.  My mother set about dealing with the dog and went out to the shops.  I just messed around the house, reading and surfing the Internet.  Rob and Wendy spent most of the morning upstairs.  I have no idea what they were doing.

At about 12:30 pm, the first of the invited guests started to arrive.  These included Wendy's sons, who had made the effort to come all the way from Leeds for the service.  Then my father's twin sister Anne and her husband arrived.  I must admit, Anne looked very old and rather haggard.  Maybe this is to be expected, since it was about 13 years since I last saw her, and I don't believe that my father had seen in that time either.  We will never know if there were "issues" between them, such that twins who live barely 20 miles apart did not see each other once in 13 years.  As ever in these circumstances, the conversation between people who don't know each other is very stilted and artificial - though in our case, none of the conversation was miserable or maudlin.

At about 1 pm, the hearse and the limousine arrived to take us to the crematorium, and I began to feel emotion welling up.  I looked in the hearse, and my brain was telling me:  "hey that's your father in there!".  In a sense, one almost has to smile at such thoughts, but then the solemnity of the situation tells you that would be totally inappropriate.

For some reason, Anne and her husband decided they wanted to drive themselves to the crematorium, rather than come in the limousine with us.  The journey to the crematorium was long and slow.  However, I couldn't help noticing that the limousine was a stretched version of a car that I used to own - a car known as a Vauxhall Vectra.  So I passed the time watching the driver and seeing how the car responded to his actions on the controls!  As we approached the crematorium, the rain seemed to get even harder.  As we pulled in, I couldn't help thinking that the crematorium grounds would look beautiful in the summer.

My biggest concern was the number of people who would turn up for the service.  My dread was that only a handful of people would come, and I would have found it very upsetting if the only people there were my father's close family.  As it turned out, we were shown to the "waiting room" and in there was about 50 people - an excellent turnout!  No sooner had we arrived (it seems that our arrival was holding up the proceedings ...) than we were being ushered into the chapel.  The close family walked immediately behind the coffin as it was taken in.

Perhaps the best surprise was the arrival of my cousins Elisabeth and Jan, who had made the effort to come up from London.  A contrast to the cousins on my father's side of the family, who did not make any effort to come.

The service itself lasted about 20 minutes, and it was clear that the vicar had done his homework in finding out about my father, including knowing about my poor dead brother Adam.  I felt the tears welling up when I looked at the coffin and thought that this would be the last time that his body existed in whole form, but otherwise I thought the service was a great tribute to my father's life.  It's hard to say that one can "enjoy" such occasions, but the service was a positive occasion for me, not a negtaive one.  My brother and I exchanged words during the playing of Take Five, noting that the crematorium had picked the "long" version and that we were going to be there all day!

After the service, the limousine brought us back to Shipston for the wake.  Prior to that, Rob, my mother and I thanked everyone for coming, which took a great deal of time.  We noticed, with some amusement, that there was a distinct smell of burning in the air ...

The Coach and Horses pub did an excellent spread, with plenty left over so we could take some home for supper in the evening!  My mother and I stopped for a couple of drinks, and quite a few laughs it has to be said - the sad part of the day was over and done with, so it was appropriate to unwind.  The main joke was that my father was in effect paying for his own wake, having paid for his own cremation earlier - in spite of the fact that he was very "careful" with money!  The chance to unwind this way was very welcome.

My mother and I went home after a couple of hours, but Rob and Wendy stayed to the early hours of the morning.  Everyone copes with these situations in different ways, but getting blind drunk is not my way of coping.

From Funeral to Present

It's now been just over four months since my father died, and we have just got through Xmas and the new year, hoping that 2009 is a better year for the family.  Life has definitely got easier, and as the months have passed by, we have got used to the fact that my father isn't around any more.  Two strange things to note, though.

First, part of my brain still "forgets" that my father is dead.  So, sometimes when I watch a good football match, I make a note to myself that I must tell my father that he missed a good game.  Then the "intelligent" side of my brain kicks in, and reminds me that I can't do that any more.  I have taken over ownership of my father's car, and I sometimes notice features of the car that I'm sure my father didn't know about.  So again I make a mental note that I must mention it to him - until reality sets in and I realise that telling him could be quite difficult these days!

The second thing to note is that there is still a small section of my brain that questions whether his death really happened, though not with the intensity that it did in the first few days after his death.  I suppose that there will always be a part of me that yearns to go back to the way we were, when I had both a mother and a father.

Even now, barely a day goes by when I don't think about him.  I think that's healthy - just because he's gone, it doesn't mean he's forgotten.  The thoughts are invariably good ones too.

In the longer term, one thing that has happened after my father's death is that I have started to think more about my own mortality.  I have been single for a very long time, and Rob lives some way away.  When my mother passes away, I will be rather on my own - no wife or kids to fall back on, like many people have.  This has renewed my determination to find myself a partner, and sort out the one aspect of my life that is lacking right now.  We will see what comes of that.

As we stand now, there is only one item of business to deal with.  My father's ashes are in my mother's home, and we have decided that my father would like to be scattered in one of his favourite places, the Doone Valley on Exmoor.  We will do that next spring, when the winter gloom has passed by, and we have sunshine, flowers, and the birds are singing once again.  Just how he would have liked it.