⁴ Even when the father dies, he might well not be dead, since he leaves his likeness behind him.

 (Ecclesiasticus-chapter 30)

My father, not a man given to using ‘bad language’ of any sort, was never behind the door in pulling up those people who risked using it in his company. It’s not that he lead an especially sheltered life; indeed as an army officer-he probably heard more than his fair share of cursing and profanities-thankfully it wasn’t contagious ,to him at any rate.

However, he did have one word that he relied on heavily in times of extreme stress or annoyance; the word ‘bloomin’-it was his release valve-.As kids, any instruction or correction given to us that was prefaced by this word –spoke volumes.

‘Turn off that bloomin television’.....’Where are my bloomin keys?’ or my favourite ‘Run upstairs and turn off those bloomin lights, the house looks like bloomin Duffy’s circus from outside’-I have to admit my other half and self have stolen that one –and use it regularly. I now feel my father’s pain when, arriving home on a winters evening, he could see almost every light in the house on –and maybe two rooms with occupants in them.

Bloomin’ meant –‘I mean business’ that was all it took to shift his heedless or idling offspring. My mother, who probably had more reason than he had, to vent annoyance at her brood-did try to use this word on a number of occasions-to no avail whatsoever; she may as well been talking to the cat. From her lips bloomin just sounded silly and ineffectual-so we ignored it-of course 

A car journey with both of them, after we kids realised what an awful driver he was, was akin to a pantomime. His favourite expression on these occasions, when overtaken by a car was ‘Bloomin jumped up messenger boy’ and then he would conspiratorially mumble to my mother that back in ‘their ‘day those were the very fellows who went around on messenger bikes; now they thought they owned the roads.

She always chuckled reassuringly-well she had no choice really –her life was in his hands; she never did learn to drive.

My mother’s loyalty to him knew no bounds-he was perfect and everything he did was perfect-especially his driving.

On one occasion, after he had driven the full length of a one way street, the wrong way, my –soon to be-sister- in -law very gently mentioned this error to him; my loyal and faithful mother turned around to her and said –very matter of factly-‘And didn’t he do it beautifully’. It was not my father’s fault of course-it was bloomin bad signs and the bloomin corporation ruining the bloomin roads.

A diabetic, dependent on two insulin shots a day, his life was very structured, with the devoted help of my mother. His daily routine involved getting up very early and giving himself his first shot of the day. His second shot was always before his evening meal; this was usually administered by my mother-a nurse.

Not being a man to miss an opportunity for a bit of banter, when I happened to be home as a student nurse, he would avail of the chance to tease my mother by moaning loudly if she gave him his insulin-or alternatively-he would ask me in a loud voice,if I would give it to him because ‘that mother of yours is too rough’. As usual ,she chuckled-knowing that tomorrow he might just be very happy to see her wielding her syringe-in the absence of his more gentle daughter!

Heavenly Eyes

One of his more pleasing turns of phrase-to my mother or to his daughters-when we did something nice for him; something nice usually being preparing a meal or suchlike; was ‘If only I had Heavenly eyes and I could see your wings’-a most gracious expression of gratitude on his part that never failed to make us feel good-even if we did lack the necessary virtues to qualify for angelic status.

A man of great faith who lead an exemplary life,(well that is unless he was been overtaken by another driver)-he always had a fear of death, and rarely liked to use the word.However,true to form, when he was diagnosed as terminally ill, he made occasional references to ‘this bloomin old thing’-it being a particularly nasty cancer- and he was certainly well prepared for the time when he would be ‘pushing up the bloomin’ daisies’.

His last year on earth was truly a year of prayer and profound suffering-my mother –with the help of all their offspring-devoted every second and every ounce of energy to his care and comfort .

As a nurse, I have assisted at many deaths, some joyful and happy, some sad and empty.

However, I can honestly say, that while my father was passing out of this world, at sixty four years of age-so young- I heard the most selfless words ever, spoken by my mother-

‘Go Tom, because I don’t begrudge you to God;-God take him and I don’t begrudge him to you.’-no hysterics, no loud lamenting—she helped him to  have a perfect death--after all everything he did was perfect in her eyes—why not now!

I hope he’s enjoying the bloomin flowers in Heaven-I know he is.