The One About Anniversaries

The 30th of July would have been Dad’s 80th birthday. He died in his 50s so I always remember him as a young man, and I measure my meaningful mortality by his: packing in as much as possible until I’m the same age, then it’s all bonus gravy, baby. I still miss Dad. He had such a strong grasp on world politics and the big picture. He was also brilliant at maths, particularly trigonometry, and tried to teach me algebra with a stick in the sand on Cleethorpes beach. BIG in the sand algebra, but still no dice there. I can do arithmetic and that’s as far as my interest goes. He was instrumental in transforming modern Air Traffic Control, believe it or not, and would take things apart and put them back together again, To see how they worked. He was a difficult man, with his own struggles. He was also immensely kind and generous, even as a young man. In his late teens, he was walking through a park in Bristol one winter to get to a bus stop and remember those death machine roundabouts? A little boy playing on his own had got his leg caught and ripped it backwards from the knee down and Dad pulled him out and tied his leg off then shouted for help. Not so many mobiles in the early 60s. He said he shouted for 40 minutes in the frost before anyone came, ran to a phone box and called the ambulance. With this boy on his lap. He said it was the most desolate hour of his life. Shouting into the void. I think he was 19. The cold probably saved that boy. I hope he is still out there somewhere.

When Dad was ill, I asked if there was anything I could do for him, and he said No, just do one good deed a day. And I’ve tried to carry that forward. He said it doesn’t matter if it’s letting someone go ahead of you in a queue, letting someone out at a junction in the car, paying a compliment about someone’s outfit, or performing CPR, every day is an opportunity to do a good deed.

So, fast forward to 30 July two years ago, and the Neighbour of Legend died. IKR? Uncanny. The certificate is the 31st but it was the night of the 30th.

I do not regret for one second the time I took to spend with him at the end of his life. It was the ending he dreaded, incapacitated and yet still himself. When I got to the hospital after the big collapse, I realised what our friendship meant to him, not me. I kissed his head and said, Hey, I’m here. And he roused and said, What took you so long? In perfect English. His daughters and the doctor couldn’t believe it. He’d been rambling in German. With me, he was lucid. It was my privilege to be with his daughters at the end of his life. It is absolutely my privilege to carry the map of his father’s 19 month trek to find them in detention camps after the war. And the foundation stone of his house from 1672. He meant a lot to me.

Life is full of loss, and that’s just what it is. Our dad’s twin sister has gone on to have identical twins. Her 80th birthday party was so cool. The family and assorted bbq. Wonderful.

As Dad said when we were right at the end, gripping my hand, I have lived an extra-ordinary life. Promise me that when you are where I am now, you will be able to say the same.

Pals, I couldn’t post on the day as it was too much. The loveliest couple have bought the NoL’s house and renovated it from the ground up, but kept most of it intact. I have a standing invitation but am feeling pretty shy about it. They’ve kept his wonderful pool, and the forest, and his custom made Italian stove. I probably won’t tell him that our stillborn baby and Bridie and Bella, and Falco are also buried on the property over the apero. At least, not the first one.

Dad was a difficult man, but I only remember him with fondness now. Apparently, the NoL was a difficult guy - If I make a war then it will be problems - but never with me. One Sunday morning (for Bavarian Catholics Sundays are only about the rest: I sleep on Sunday like the bear) I got him up and out as Mum was staying and drove them to the coast for oysters in a little seafood cabin. He was still almost asleep at midday as we sat down. I ordered the lot. Everything arrived, cold oysters, Rockefeller, and hot mussels and he was sitting there, looking at the view, then Mum, then me, and I said, Not eating? What’s going on in your head? As everyone knows, German mealtimes are a demolition project.

He took a long moment, looked out at the view, at Mum, then me, and he said, Today, I am, truly, the King of the World.

And that is from my family to yours. Stay lucky.

And oh oh oh, I forget to say, when you walk through the airport and look at the departure board, that’s our parents! So wherever you fly, always know that Dad is watching over you.