I took this photo a week ago. I didn't know it would be the last picture I ever took of him, before he died suddenly at home on Tuesday night.
My dad was an ill man for several years, but his health didn't stop him doing things it just slowed him down. He got frustrated and angry because he couldn't do things and at 77 he still considered himself 55 in his mind. He was grumpy, opinionated and I'd try to expand his mind with my experiences of the world but we'd end up having a full blown row, but we NEVER left it unresolved.
I sat with my dad on Tuesday night when he died, there was nothing I could've done. I know that from the minute I arrived at the house.
I didn't know it would be just this hard. I'm not sleeping, I didn't wash for 4 days, but I'm making sure me and my mum have a proper meal every day. My boys have all been here. I have to keep trying to remember that they've lost their grandad, my mum has lost her husband as well as me losing my dad.
We keep apologizing to one another, being frightfully british, taking it in turns to be upset, support, cry, laugh.
The funeral has been arranged, clothes have to picked, eulogy written, flowers, I need a pair of shoes to go with my dress, son needs a tie (one of grandads????) banks, wills, pensions, I'm only scraping the surface here.
I'm driving child 3 back to Leeds today, he'll be back for the funeral. Child 4 deployment was delayed by a week and I'm taking him to join his regiment in Brize Norton on Monday. Peter arrives on Thursday, everything will be done by then and I can and will just switch off, until the funeral on Monday.