This Sunday was the first Fathers Day I had no one to buy something for. Himself doesn't count - the kidlets can use the Internet purchasing thing better than me and I have badges for it. My Father-in-Law died earlier this year and my own father died over twenty years ago when I was in my very early twenties. 'Dad' stepped into the void left behind and took on the role with aplomb, good grace and good humour having already taken on Himself and his siblings as his own when he married their mother. He's been my 'Dad' for over twenty-five years. No I'm not ancient - Himself and I met at school. On Friday, while purchasing birthday cards for middle son, I forgot, momentarily, that he was gone and seeing one with cricket on the front thought 'Oh, Dad will like that one.' He was a Yorkshire man with all the sporting baggage that that implies. Not many families here understand LBW but we all do - come to that not many families here know the words of 'On Ilkley Moor bar tat!' That forgetting thing that you do is very disconcerting - suddenly you're swept backwards to the rawness of grief with all the emotions that that entails.

As you know I've recently moved house and, although in these past couple of years, ill health meant that he couldn't help physically, he would always be there sounding out about the best way to do things. Initially on the weekend of the move, surrounded by the rest of the family we all did that 'ignoring the elephant in the room' thing. Then a little person did the emperors new clothes deal ' I wish Granda was here to see the new house' and we all stopped and looked around acknowledging that we would have no new memories built of him here . And then an even smaller person reminded us that although the person may be gone memories and links remain. 'But Granda is here, look the roses are white and there are red trees ( red Acer).' Sometimes it takes a four year old to point out the obvious. All of the sayings he brought to the family such as, 'Tell your mother thanks for the dripping,' 'Tarrah ducks,' and when asked 'tea or coffee?' the standard reply - 'porridge' have become family vocabulary. My nephew has just come through the door with a 'I'm here and to prove it, I've arrived.'

So on Sunday, as everyone else was away, I went on my own to the grave to take him some of his beloved Yorkshire Roses ( roses in our family are never, ever red) and to thank him for having a heart big enough to adopt another stray into his family. Family isn't always about blood ties but about all the other things that bind you all together. My sister-in-law and I were alone with him when he died. His 'girls' holding his hands and telling him we loved him like he loved us. That's family.


I know I said I don't do photos but as you can tell I didn't take this one and it's a special one, found for me by a special friend.