Christmas and New Year

It's been a long time since I've added anything here; my brain has been too addled. Of course Christmas at Swanvale Halt was as busy as you might expect, in fact busier as there were extra events over the festive season: the local secondary school and a nursery group both requested Christmas services for the first time, and I was asked over to a strange little estate chapel a couple of miles away to lead their Christmas service, which takes place on the Thursday after Christmas and involves a walk down a muddy lane to sing carols to sheep. Unfortunately I seem to have done this well so I will probably have to do it next year too. Then on New Year's Day there was the ecumenical service at Hornington, which I'll post about separately.

All of this liturgy was sadly overshadowed by the death of my Dad on December 28th. You will know he's been ill for some time, and had a place booked in a local care home. In the week before he was due to go there, he became increasingly poorly and on the Friday had three successively more serious falls, finally hitting his head and blacking out. Once in hospital he became unresponsive and drowsy, and there not being any other clear cause despite lumbar punctures and brain scans the doctors diagnosed a urinary infection. We thought he was becoming dehydrated but they have maintained this wasn't the case until Boxing Day when he was put on a drip. He never recovered, rapidly declined, and by the 27th it was clear he was dying. I was there, joining my mother and sister, from about 1.30 for about twelve hours as Dad gradually got weaker and finally died just after 1am. It's a terrible, piteous thing to see someone die, not an experience I've had before and not one I want to repeat soon.

Mum was faced with the prospect of a rather quick funeral a week later or waiting three weeks, so went for the early option - waiting would have been purgatorial. It was at St John's, Parkstone, where they were married. As well as family and local friends, Dr Bones and Miss T both made it down from the Oxford region to the service, which is more tribute than anything else to what a lovely man my Dad was.

I can't be sad that Dad has avoided a long, horrible decline - at least, no further than he'd already got - and having to go into care. His life was no fun for the last six months. But even though I've been losing him for some time it's strange that he's no longer actually around. I still feel rather numb and my feelings are very difficult to put into words. He ought to have had a better hand dealt him, is what keeps coming back to me.