NORTHERN DEAR DIARY

&nbsp                                NORTHERN DEAR DIARY

SATURDAY 9/2/13 Sleep Eludes Me

Arrive quite late this evening, filled with great trepidation as I pull into the driveway. How will I react to seeing my dad & our kid for the first time after mum's passing?  
I feel really strong and in control. Where is all of this coming from, or leading too?
No more guesswork, I just have to go with my persona & hope people don't think harsh of me for the lack of weeping & wailing which has eluded me to date.
Dad is in the kitchen washing up and bursts in to tears immediately he sees me. I am only capable of holding him for comfort, Emotion allows only much sadness for his suffering, joining in his tears seems not an option right now.
Immediately I am bombarded from both sides with lots of official looking paperwork, funeral directors brochures and lots of pics of wreaths....they have left choices of flowers for the coffin to me. Having no knowledge of mum's favorite floral varieties (now food selection would have been a doddle, fish and chips from Tommys chippie) The range of floral tribute are very mundane, so I err on the side of recklessness  and go for white lilies with all the trimmings, retro style. Two wreaths back to back, interesting and different than the boring, traditional "cross of ages cleft for me"
Masses of gentle argument and strange conversation, notes made and sequence of must do's in the correct order for action on Monday and Tuesday. Hells Bells my bruv barks out the important bits with military precision, like some Major General high on the power of too many medals on his shoulder epaulettes.
Dad sits next to me, as I am reclining in Mum's spot on the sofa and gently clasps my hand, an endearing moment of father, daughter closeness in very sad circumstance. His obvious need of comfort is reciprocated, maybe I am trying to take over the mantle of matriarch, as his loss is possibly greater than mine.
We both sort through mums permanent right arm fixture!!! Her handbag is full of worldly possessions. I open a small well tatty brown wallet and discover inside a lovely portrait of mum, sepia style, when she was about twenty two. Even the lack of color in the brownish hues, allow her stunning titian red hair to shine through the photograph, a truly beautiful young woman on the cusp of a journey that will take her through sixty four years of married life with this gentle, devoted man sitting by my side right now.

SUNDAY 10/2/13 Very Late Indeedy

Very late lie in but no matter as today will be a time to relax and spend all of these Sunday hours with my dear ol Dad before the melée of tomorrows death duties.
Dad has brought me a welcome cuppa, not tea though. This is the one trait that defies my Northern Heritage, I hate the stuff and have never drunk the same. Coffee is my "Put The Kettle On Mother" pick me up, when a boost for the not so great moments have kicked in.
Our Kid is off back to his family home today, for a well earned break, as he has stayed with Dad since Thursday when things went into free fall with Mum at the Nursing Home. 
Father and Daughter time commences with a re run over the checklist for tomorrow. I appear to be taking on the mantle of my mother dearest as I orchestrate and set out an order of movement so all will flow perfectly time wise, thus enabling every task for Monday to be completed.
All in One Garden Centre for a bite of lunch, easy access as just around the corner on the Rochdale road. Dad loves the homemade soup there, plus it's a setting allowing a very relaxed ambience where we can make easy conversation of all, or nothing but trivia. We are browsing amongst the many gift items, Dad has struck  up a conversation with the elderly lady next to us. There is a quirky metal wall hanging spelt out with the word " LOVE," the old lady says to Dad " Eh up you can buy that for yer wife for Valentines Day !!! Oh heck it's one of those squirming moments and I wait for Dad to dissolve into tears but he holds his composure and just smiles wryly in response. I shoot him a look of "she wasn't to know" and he just shrugs his shoulders in resignation of his sad circumstance.  
He is a very eloquent man of few words indoors, but put him out in the street and it's like Billy Graham meets Michael Parkinson, he stops and chats to all and sundry. Comes from his days of Retail Management in Heywood High Street. A natural born people person and a great asset to Jim, who owned the then thriving electrical and furniture business Dad managed to swell the coffers of with his brilliant customer service skills.
I can remember Mum taking me and our kid, on a Saturday, as a treat, for lunch in a local cafe with Dad. We would all walk back down the High Street to the store and it would take forever to get from A to B as folk would come up to Dad, shake his hand and give it large with good northern banter!!! Even at such a young age I always felt very proud that this caring, gentle man was so well respected by the people of the community he worked in.    
Home to relax for the remainder of the day. We trundle through the front door to a pile of hand delivered sympathy cards. it was announced in Church this morning, in our absence, that Mum had passed away. I think most of the congregation must have trooped up the pathway whilst we were elsewhere for lunch, if we had been in residence it could have turned into a very early wake !!! Dad starts to read the cards but breaks down and weeps in utter despair. This has become a frequency since October last year when Mum first went into the nursing home, yet I can only hold and comfort this bereft man until composure kicks back in. My mindset of late is " hold fast onto your stoic Northern resolve to be strong for me dear Ol Dad." It has become my purpose rather than duty to always be the solid rock that allows his fingertips to hang on to when he descends over the edge of despair and loneliness.    

MONDAY 11/2/13 Burning The Dawn Oil

Thank heavens I made an itinerary for today. I need time to be on our side to break the back of the list of too much to do's. Also I am beginning to fret about seeing my precious mum this afternoon in The Chapel Of Rest. Maybe it was not such a good idea and I should stick with remembrance of last weekend when she was warm and alive. 
Dad really kicks us off to a bad start, by leaving my morning wake up call, coffee in tow, until 10am. Our must be kept appointment at Rochdale Register Office is apparently 11.45, he took it upon himself to ring as requested at 9am to secure a slot. I have less than one hour to transform myself from Worzel Gummidge to Debbie Harry in her better years !! In other words "fit for public consumption" I cannot possibly berate him for extra sleeping allowance as he had convinced himself it was much required and beneficial for me.
We are sitting in a minor part of the historical, gilt edged Town Hall, it smells of ancient goings on, centuries of enrollment...you're born, you marry, you die.
The plasma TV on the reception wall, perfectly placed in our eyeline, advertises Wedding Venues, Funeral Directors, Cupcake makers, Dress Hire, Photography and Uncle Tom Cobley & All !!!!! Talk about in your face.
I am observing a very scruffily dressed couple sitting a few seats further along who both look as though they have taken a break from selling copies of The Big Issue. Their dirty attire, gruff interaction and argumentative banter leads me to assume they must suffer much hardship in their daily lives, but judge ye not as they are probably here to register a very sad loss, as we are.
The registrar announces their names and to my utter jaw dropping surprise, asks each to be interviewed separately, as is the custom now, upon registering for a forthcoming marriage. You could knock me down with a feather for getting that one totally wrong. My dad looks at me quizzically as I roll my eyes to the heavens above in utter disbelief. 
Now it's our turn to register and collect five copies of mums death certificate. As we are heading to the appropriate office, this parent of mine who chats to all and sundry when we are out and about, stops in front of the male spouse left behind and says " Thats nice you are about to be married" and you know what this guy says ? ? " Nothing nice about this mate, it's a bloody case of having too " Ecky thump my heart goes out to the poor little unborn mite who is possibly the reason for this sorry situation, but there is nothing I can do to make it better for the life of this impending, unfortunate child.
Florists in Bamford Road next, highly recommended, even though the Funeral Directors proffered a floral catalogue, I do like choices. Pleased to have given myself options, especially as the two family men in my life had already decided I should take sole responsibility for the wreath that will sit on top of the coffin, Result...I settle for a very modern arrangement of Large White Lillies interspersed with lots of dark leaf fern, two tone marbled ivy, twisty brown willow and inbetween all, a smattering of perfectly arranged olive green satin ribbon, which really compliments the various shades of greenery. An elongated flow of sheer contemporary floral artistry. Dad is equally pleased and agrees graciously with my choice of decoration. I will tell the Funeral Director " I know a woman that does" when his catalogue is handed back, marked Declined !! 
Shopping, Pension collected, Lunch consumed back at Birchall HQ, it's now time for the last few items on the agenda. We are off to Middleton to sort out Mum & Dads bank accounts into sole name and on the way back home we have the last, yet most poignant deed of the day.
S. Wellens Funeral Directors are housed in a very cosy, welcoming converted Victorian house, a mixture of ancient and modern furniture, decor and artifacts.
I need to go through various requirements which again my menfolk wanted me to take responsibility for. I have prepared, at very short notice, a newspaper announcement for The Rochdale Observer. That was easy as I used the same message sent out to friends, via the Jacquie Lawson Website, cyber written on a very ethereal notelet which depicted beautiful fluffy powder white clouds, with a gorgeous opalescent sky of silver lining. Very apt for my words....
                      
"A very much loved Wife and Mum, who drove us all to distraction in life, yet we will always be distracted with fond memories of her unique personality and selfless devotion for the family she loved unconditionally throughout her days."

The order of service and celebration of life cards were a no brainer, easy peasy, lemon squeezy. Our find of succinct writing and beautiful portrait photo in that aged, tatty brown wallet will be the centerpiece of the card, with the two chosen hymns ( mum had already left instructions) and a message of thank you for joining us today, relegated to the sidelines.
Dad breaks down badly again, as I sense this is because he is aware mums body Is so near, I ask him gently if he wishes to change his mind and accompany me to that room down a short corridor, He is adamant that his last loving goodbye and gentle kisses were conveyed at the point mum died. She was warm to touch and still his precious Wyn back at that moment and that is all the remembrance he requires to sustain him in the coming days and weeks. He looks such a frail broken man at this point, so tiny and hunched on a chair, his cloth cap almost buries his head, so bowed in defeat. My heart cries out for him but I need every ounce of northern steel for what I am about to encounter.
The man in the morning suit, beckons me to follow him, I take the deepest of breath and walk the green mile !!!
Shock is suppressed, as I gaze upon this shrunken, alabaster shell of a lady, who is definitely not my mother at first glance. Standing for what seems forever trying to assimilate what lies before me, I venture a reluctant, nervous touch to her forehead. Stone cold is expected as I have seen dead bodies lying  in state before, I lost a couple of close friends to cancer. Statue is the only logic that comes to mind, empty shell devoid of life and soul. My dearest mum has long left this place but I still feel the need to have closure, so I set about conveying all of my private thoughts to this empty vessel dressed beautifully in a rose pink floral shift dress, lying in a modern light oak, lilac silk lined coffin, surrounded by a dozen assorted cuddly monkeys, acquired as presents from various grandchildren over the years who indulged her penchant for this speciies, as she always said she would have loved a real chimpanzee as a pet.
I stroke her long silken silver grey hair with it's peachy tones, a remnant of the stunning titian red locks that adorned and thoroughly complimented her natural beauty of face. 
My time to leave her, all is said and done. A kiss on her ice cold forehead, a token gesture for the real heartfelt kiss I so wished I could have given her at the end.
Sadly I have to live with the fact that she played a "Final Blinder" and ousted both me and our kid out of her final moments and chose instead the only person she really needed to be with her at the end. MY DAD. Her lifelong partner and soulmate. I have to respect her orchestration of finality and lay all ghosts to rest.
There is just one last cheeky scenario. My three daughters have requested a monkey each as a keepsake momento of their beloved Grandma, so I choose  the appropriate variety of each (Winkin, Blinkin & Nod) and duly nick them outa the coffin. I will risk her repercussions from above. With a smirk on my face like a naughty child, I tuck the three wise monkeys under my arm and walk back down the corridor to face a very bemused Funeral Director who had been pre warned by my Dad that a theft of remembrance would be committed.
A diversion on our way home takes us to the crematorium. Curiosity reigns as I wish to see this bizarre place mum has chosen for ceremony. My dad was as shocked as I, when we opened her self penned, white envelope of "instruction upon her death" only to discover she had totally ignored my dads church St Aidens in Castleton and even worse , as his faith would prefer, a burial. 
We are pleasantly surprised, as the modern facade of Middleton Crematorium has a very picturesque Yorkshire stone built church of the quaintest order, as it's centerpiece. The tiny but characteristic place of worship and finality is adorned with beautifully carved light oak modern pews, complimented with stained glass and ornate leaded light windows. Lovely rolling fields of green outlook, over the dales, completes the picture of Mums final resting place.
The return drive to my childhood home is lifted of spirit and satisfied in the knowledge that "All Is Now Said And Done"
 
                     " GOODNIGHT MOTHER DEAREST....SLEEP WELL"
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