Category Archives: Bereavement

Dear Dad

Dear Dad,

You were supposed to live forever.

Missing you.



Dear Dad, Margaret Thatcher has died.

Dear Dad,

Just to let you know Margaret Thatcher died. I don’t believe in heaven or hell but if you do happen to bump into her in the afterlife, I’m sure you would be kind due to her dementia even though I know how much you utterly hated the woman and the devastation she wrought on the mining community you hailed from. Your dad was a miner but died before she came into power- I think you were glad of he never got to see what happened to the village you grew up in.

I don’t think it’s nice to crow over someones death, I’d be sad if anyone was happy you died, even if you did have a knack of deliberately rubbing people up the wrong way sometimes.

I’m not happy she died, if anything her dying has bought my own grief for you up. She was always in the periphery of my childhood and so I remember happier but hard and worrying times in the eighties growing up. I remember being very scared when the Falkland war started as I was convinced I’d have to be an evacuee, and we were about to get bombed! This was despite the fact we lived in rural Midlands.  My primary school history lessons clearly had some kind of an impact.

I also remember we all knew she stole our milk but then I never really understood that one- we had to pay 10p for a carton of slightly warm milk or a glass of apple juice at breaktime and when in year6 me and a few other girls were made milk monitors and were allowed a free drink for our troubles- except we kept nicking more and more milk and juice and the profits went down.  Given I also wanted to be the next woman prime minister in Y6 maybe she had had more of an impact on me than I thought….

I don’t really remember joining you in solidarity on the miners strikes but I still have the picture from then (and you assure me I met and charmed Arthur Scargill aged three or four!). We still have the jigsaw somewhere made from this picture that mum got from saving up coupons from marmite jars. She would never let us actually do the jigsaw incase we lost a piece. It was recording history!

Anyhow. You’ve gone, She’s gone, Joe’s gone, Both sets of Grandma and Grandpa’s have gone, Becci’s gone, Sam next door went yesterday, one day we will all be gone, ashes to ashes and all that.

Death- bit shit really.

Miss you dad.


Dear Elderly Couple Buying Lightbulbs

Dear Elderly Couple buying lightbulbs,

It made me happysad when Mr Elderly Couple cheerily announced

“Oooh it says these new lightbulbs last 10years, just think, we will probably never have to buy lightbulbs again!”

Mrs Elderly Couple you looked a combination of faintly amused yet groaning inwardly at your husbands sense of humour, and yet also clearly slightly terrified of your future demise as you simply said “yes dear”.

I do hope you both get to experience the joys of purchasing energy saving lightbulbs again (although top tip -your electricity provider often gives them out for free) but more importantly I hope Mr Elderly Couple keeps up his sense of humour and you and Mrs Elderly Couple remain such a lovely clearly happy couple and that when your time does come that you get to shuffle off this mortal coil and towards the light (the light that takes several minutes to warm up and reach full brightness) together at the same time, so one of you never misses the other, bad mortality jokes and all.

Lots of Love

P.S You are role models for me &LordC. I want someone to write about doing something like that in 40years or so. πŸ™‚

Dear “A Time to Grieve”

Dear “A Time to Grieve”,

So on the first anniversary of my Dad’s death the Times run an article on “grief blogging” and this blog didn’t get a mention- sniff. This blog was set up mostly to help me write out my grief and I reckon some of the following posts have helped me massively:

Dear International Spy Dad,

Dear Ghost Dad,

Dear Tramp in the street,

Dear Funeral,

Dear Grief,

Dear Dad,

Dear Grumpy Dead Dad,

Dear Laughing Dad in my dream

Dear Dad, Its been 6months

Dear Dad, Thankyou for not being David Davis

Dear Bereaved

Dear Dad, Happy Christmas

I don’t think I am very good at grieving. I don’t often let myself cry or be sad and sometimes I feel like a pressure cooker ready to explode but I just can’t give into the grief just incase.

Incase of what I don’t know. Maybe I am scared if I start I will never stop. Instead I delay, distract and disassociate.

Sometimes there is just too much going on in real life to allow time to wallow, time to grieve.

Today I planned to grieve, properly, I honestly did, its the anniversary of losing my dad, its what I am supposed to do right? It hasn’t really happened. We have the builders in so sobbing all day wasn’t going to happen with three strange men in my loft! LordC unexpectedly and wonderfully took the day off work and we mooched into town and had lunch. In honour of my dads heart and my own heart investigations on Monday I ordered a healthy lunch and a glass of Rose he probably would have liked. We meant to go and sit in the Botanic Gardens as dad loved it there but it was raining and we ended up in Poundland instead. Dad also loved it there but that’s not quite the fitting tribute I intended!

I suppose I have blogged somethings that have helped, and right this second instead of taking some time to have a good sob I am writing this post whilst I finish off my dad’s bottle of Christmas Baileys. I suppose that is how I grieve- making new traditions and memories in honour of my dad. although perhaps an annual poundland pilgrimage is a bit much.

The Baileys thing will always be my 31st Jan tradition from now on. Dad always used to buy me a bottle of Christmas Baileys, as he thought I liked it. I didn’t really and often it would still be around the following Christmas. Since he can no longer buy me a bottle of Baileys, I arrange for my brother to carry on the tradition of the Unwanted bottle of Baileys. We made Baileys Tiramisu on Christmas eve and there was just enough Baileys for a glass tonight.

So here’s to you Dad- A time to grieve and sip my Baileys and blog about a time to grieve without actually taking the time to grieve.

Such is life,

or death,

or something,




Dear Beano

Dear Birthday Beano,

I am decoupaging my father in laws old trunk into a toy box for the girls covered in your fabulous comic. I bought random selection of 17 on eBay from 1981 1982 and 1983. They arrived in the post today, to my complete surprise there was one from the exact day I was born!!! Given you were only produced once a week on a Thursday, then the odds of me getting a Beano out of the 17 I received from the exact date of my birth were slim (I had no idea I was born on a Thursday or the Beano was issued on a Thursday) and to get this treat on today of all days made a very hard day (first anniversary of my fathers death) a special day. I don’t really believe in ghosts but I’m comforted by pretending it’s a sign from Dad.

Thankyou Birthday Beano. You shall occupy pride of place on my daughters’ new toy box.

Love LadyMinnieTheMinxCurd

20130131-193135.jpg (for security reasons not actual birthday Beano)

Dear Time

Dear Time,

Time heals,
Time ticks on,
Never waste a moment
Seize the day
Time expands
Time contracts,
Baby is born
Father dies
Toddler turns 2
Life goes on
Tick tock
Daughter avoids grief
Life goes on
Baby turns one
Anniversary of fathers death.
Tomorrow about 9.30am ish
Time to pause
Time to grieve
Toddler will turn 3 next week
Life goes on.
Time goes on.
Tick tock.

Dear Dad, Happy Christmas

Dear Dad,

First Christmas without you. Mum and bro seem to be having fun chez. Curds.

Mum keeps nicking all my Baileys that Bro bought me (since you can’t buy me my annual bottle anymore he has taken over the tradition). Bro is fine helping with dinner and girls adore him.

Girls are being poppets, Omble is not in the slightest bit interested in Christmas but likes the wrapping paper, and Oddler has turned into present demanding brat from hell but now they have run out she is very happy with her presents- I think LordC doing his usual trick of dragging presents out to make them last was winding her up (That and the sugar mouse mum gave her for breakfast!), just like you used to with me and bro! πŸ™‚

Strange not to talk to you today. Miss you. Love you.