27th February 2012 Monday
Already I’m in countdown mode to Friday. Crossing things off the list. On automatic.
Order the centrepiece flowers for the church - a posy or an oval shape?
Phone the church secretary to make sure we can get into the building at 8am on the day with the food.
Buy something to wear.
Make the sesame cheese biscuits.
Write something more for the tribute.
But I don’t know what to say.
I just keep thinking how when it’s all over and everyone has gone home - there won’t be anybody to tell about it. I won’t be able to draw up a chair next to my father and say to him
‘Wasn’t that an amazing day. Do you know what so-and-so said about you? Imagine so-and-so coming all that way.’
And he’d look at me in wonderment and laugh and shake his head and say,
‘I don’t believe it.’
But his eyes would be shining and I know he’d be really really pleased. And the next day he’d sit down at his desk and start writing about it.
And then I wouldn’t need to - because I don’t think I can.
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