The Last Road Trip
Nothing can ever prepare you for the death of a parent.
It’s something I’d thought about for years, wondered how it would play out. There were so many possibilities. I waited for the call letting me know me he’d gone, but he was a strong, resilient man and dodged many a bullet in his time. I was waiting for the one that took him down, but nothing could have prepared me for the moment I approached the open door to his small dank flat.
I’d been phoning him for three days. I left messages but no response. If he’d been on a bender I would expect a frustrating conversation where I’d question his drinking. His speech would be slow and slurred, repeating himself and getting irritated with my quizzing. In response to his denial I’d threaten to sent an ambulance to make sure he wasn’t having a stroke. This was only ever a threat, he couldn’t bear the thought of his space being invaded by strangers and his health monitored, so much so that he’d normally admit he’d had ‘ a couple of pints with the lads’.
It’s important to know that it wasn’t always like this, we’d check in with each other a couple of times a week … sometime more, sometimes less. Sober he was a an intelligent man, we’d talk about current issues, we’d discuss the allotment, his ailments ( a lot ), the kids and just regular chit chat… but it was Russian roulette, I never knew what to expect…. unless he was on a bender.