My Blog Bubble

You’ve heard of sleeping policeman. Well my dad was the cooking policeman. Growing up I was so proud to have a dad that was a policeman. His job always sounded so cool and exciting.  Then there was his ability to follow a recipe (the same one time and time again).  He made an amazing macaroni cheese (the best), shepherds pie, lamb curry (from scratch) and oh my goodness the Devil’s food cake - four storeys of ultimate chocolate cake! I loved to be able to talk about the fact that he was born in India. That he was brought up in South Africa. That he had a three-legged cheetah as a pet.  Stories of sat on a wall eating mangoes with monkeys   Dad was also a knitter - having learnt from his grandma.  And I can remember our loop cardigans and the waistcoats he knitted.   Duchess, our dog, brought home after night shift. The fish tanks and trips to all of those aquatic centres   Being a South African, he loved his tech. He always had the newest gadget (oh that satellite dish) and a cool car

Seven years ago I watched as January allowed pancreatic cancer to steal my mum’s zest for life.     Over the course of the first three months of 2017 we lost my mum slowly.     And painfully. Gracefully, and peacefully.   Cancer, COPD, mental illness and dementia have gradually, over a much longer period, eroded the man that my dad once was. In some cases he has become a happier, more fun-loving grandad than he was a father, but in another he is just the husk of the man that could fix ANYTHING. A technology-loving, recipe-following, policeman. January 2024 bears witness to another parent’s dwindling life as I see the fear in his eyes. Yet I am pleased that he still remembers who I am, my name. I hate the sadness and pain in everyone’s face, the tears in their eyes. I hate, even more, the pleading for help, knowing he would rather be, and should be allowed to be, at peace.  New year. New grief. Constant reminder that the world keeps turning and time keeps on ticking.