Today was the funeral of my Dad's best friend, who he's known since he was 16. Dad has barely left the house for months except for hospital appointments and has been so upset by his passing. I said I would go to the funeral on his behalf. Yet somehow he was up by 9, worrying about what to wear, determined to get there.
Somehow he made it through a service at the Crematorium, a service at the church and a short time at the wake (with just a short break in between).
It was very emotional but the family were so grateful. I'd worried about people looking at him in his neck brace and with his machine to talk but no one did, instead he saw old friends he'd not seen for ages and had a good chat with them, his sense of humour ever present despite the circumstances.
He's shattered now but I couldn't be prouder of my stubborn and fiercely independant dad.
Somehow he made it through a service at the Crematorium, a service at the church and a short time at the wake (with just a short break in between).
It was very emotional but the family were so grateful. I'd worried about people looking at him in his neck brace and with his machine to talk but no one did, instead he saw old friends he'd not seen for ages and had a good chat with them, his sense of humour ever present despite the circumstances.
He's shattered now but I couldn't be prouder of my stubborn and fiercely independant dad.
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