Ash_Lee
09-06-07, 07:56 PM
Actually it was probably more like Tuesday night-time. He was on holiday in New York, and fell somewhere in his hotel room. He suffered quite a serious blow to the head when it happened, and although he was taken to hospital fairly quickly he discharged himself early and went back to his room.
He was found dead that night.
Yesterday at around 4:30 am I was in bed when I heard rather impatient knocking on my front door and ringing of the door bell, to find 2 policemen at the front door. They told me they wanted to speak to my mum, I told them she was away (she's staying with my aunt in her home in Liverpool who's sick, could be a terminal illness), they asked my age (I'm 19), and I offered to give them my aunt's home number to get in touch with her, whatever it was about.
I went back to bed, but was woken again at around half 9 in the morning with another policeman at the door this time (his name was Colin, as he would later tell me). He was very calm, asked if he could come in, and we sat down in the living room. He also asked how old I was, and after I told him he said to me "I'm very sorry to have to tell you this but your father passed away last night in America". He told me that the station had been unable to get in contact with my mother at my aunt's address and so according to procedure their next step would've been to contact me (being old enough and the closest for them to contact).
To be honest, the way my dad lead his life I'd been waiting for news like this for months (more on this later). When they called during the early hours I knew, even though they didn't tell me.
Anyway, after telling me the details he had of how it happened, he then offered to collect my sister from school for me. He went to collect her and, after a few minutes of silence I suddenly thought that I should have gone with him to get her, or gone down myself. Then I realised that he would've known how to handle a situation like this, and I being there may have made things worse for my sister.
Instead, I decided to phone my mum because she had to be informed (I also started to think that myabe I'd written the number of my aunt's house wrong when the police were here in the early hours.
So I rang her and asked if she'd been phoned by the police. She hadn't, so after finding the words I told her that he'd been in holiday in America (we didn't know he'd gone), and that he had died in his hotel room. After getting over the initial shock she asked how it happened, and after telling her she said that she'd be coming home straight away as soon as she'd let people know (my aunt who she was staying with, her mother who'd gone up with her, my older sister who was in university in Liverpool, my dad's sisters, and one of my mums friends who's a close friend of the family).
After what felt like hours the policeman arrived back home with my sister, and after running to the door to see her I could see that, although not at the moment, she'd clearly been crying (she had red puffy eyes). They both came in, Colin (the policeman) made sure we were both ok, and let himself out.
I gave my sister a hug and we were left alone for a few minutes, asking each other if we were both ok and everything else, and then the door rang again. It was my mum's friend, who must've rushed up as soon as she got the message of what happened.
We talked for a while, about what happened, how we felt and how we'd both been told. My sister was in the music room when the headmaster came to the door asking her to go with him. He carried her school bag and chatted with her on the way to his office, where she saw the policeman and, after taking a seat, she was told the news.
Now, I feel I need to explain a few things about my dad, so you can get the full picture.
Him and my mum had been separated for about 2 years, going through a divorce, which very recently had been completed. The reasons for the breakdown of the marriage were more or less entirely his fault. He was an alcoholic, and had been getting drunk regularly for about 3-4 years while he was living with us. In fact, I've often suspected that after me and my sisters had been told about it (he'd been drinking a lot when we were very young as well, but we weren't really old enough to remember it), that he used the fact that we knew as an excuse to get away with it, as if us not being shocked by his behavious anymore somehow made it ok.
Anyway, about 2 years ago my mum had had enough and they both agreed that the marriage was over and that he should move out. He moved to a house about 2 towns away (about 20-25 minutes away by car) and, unfortunately, his behaviour didn't improve. He started phoning us several times a day, clearly drunk, which went on for months (one time he phoned non-stop for 30 minutes at 4 o'clock in the morning, on a day when I had an A-Level History exam), which effectively made us almost weary of answering the phone anymore as he would take absolutely ages to get to whatever point it was that he was making (more often than not there was none), and usually broke down crying before hanging up.
On the very few times that me and my sisters could bare to go and visit him we'd be welcome by a filthy house with him usually asleep on the couch on top of a pile of dirty washing, and drunk too many times (even though we always phoned him a few days in advance to give him enough time to prepare himself).
I hope you can understand therefore, that we didn't see him very often during those 2 years. In fact we even went to his house on boxing day 2005, and not only had he not prepared anything (he said he'd have a meal or something for us all to have together) but he'd clearly had drink or two (his excuse for the obvious smell of gin on his breath was Egyptian aftershave :rolleyes: ).
Sometimes it could be as much as 6 months between visits, it was just too painful to go and see him any more often than that. In fact the night of that boxing day I cried (and proper crying, not just the lump you might get in your throat when you see or hear something really sad) for the first time since my grandfathers funeral 5 years earlier, not only because of his behaviour but also the thought that this was what his life was like, booze, drugs, self pity and loneliness, and there was nothing I could do about it. I couldn't help him, it was something he had to do for himself.
Clearly it's now apparent that he never managed to do so.
The reason I say this is because, as sad as this situation should be, I haven't shed a single tear, or felt any particular feelings of sadness or grief. In fact yesterday afternoon one of my friends and 2 of my sisters friends came over and we had a laugh about, well, normal things (at one point my friend was looking for videos of fat animals on youtube).
Anyway, my point is that I feel that this isn't a normal way to deal with this. I mean, it's probably down to the minimal contact I've had with him these past 2 years, but I still can't help but feel that I should at least be feeling something a little more than the occasional pang of guilt for not going to see him more often, or not saying certain things to him at, well, any point in my life (I imagine the latter is a normal thing to feel), and I suppose I just wanted you guys to understand that and not judge me too harshly for it.
The reason I'm sharing this with you is because, my friend aside, I haven't really had a chance to get this off my chest. My mum, bless her, is just so busy phoning people and trying organise things, that she just doesn't really have the time, and my older sister doesn't really let me get a word in when we talk (it's always been like that with her). My little sister is uncharacteristically quiet (understandably), so I don't fell like I can talk about it with her. Also, I suppose, being her older brother, I feel like I'm supposed to stay strong for her and look after her, so I don't really feel comfortable telling her these things.
I shared some of my feelings with my mums friend yesterday, who just let me talk without interrupting, so I'm grateful for that, but I hadn't really had much time to think about it properly at the time so most of these thoughts have only arisen during the course of today, in the few moments of quiet I could get.
Anyway, we're all doing ok at the moment. While my mum's been phoning the numbers given to her by the police (The British Consulate, so we can bring his body or his ashes back to the UK from the US) me and one of my aunts have been frantically looking up numbers of his old friends to tell them what's happened. We found one who's in contact with a lot of the others, so hopefully he can be a big help to us.
Who knows, maybe I'll get hit by a wave of emotion at the funeral, or maybe this is just the way I deal with death, I don't know. I just hope you guys understand how I feel.
He was found dead that night.
Yesterday at around 4:30 am I was in bed when I heard rather impatient knocking on my front door and ringing of the door bell, to find 2 policemen at the front door. They told me they wanted to speak to my mum, I told them she was away (she's staying with my aunt in her home in Liverpool who's sick, could be a terminal illness), they asked my age (I'm 19), and I offered to give them my aunt's home number to get in touch with her, whatever it was about.
I went back to bed, but was woken again at around half 9 in the morning with another policeman at the door this time (his name was Colin, as he would later tell me). He was very calm, asked if he could come in, and we sat down in the living room. He also asked how old I was, and after I told him he said to me "I'm very sorry to have to tell you this but your father passed away last night in America". He told me that the station had been unable to get in contact with my mother at my aunt's address and so according to procedure their next step would've been to contact me (being old enough and the closest for them to contact).
To be honest, the way my dad lead his life I'd been waiting for news like this for months (more on this later). When they called during the early hours I knew, even though they didn't tell me.
Anyway, after telling me the details he had of how it happened, he then offered to collect my sister from school for me. He went to collect her and, after a few minutes of silence I suddenly thought that I should have gone with him to get her, or gone down myself. Then I realised that he would've known how to handle a situation like this, and I being there may have made things worse for my sister.
Instead, I decided to phone my mum because she had to be informed (I also started to think that myabe I'd written the number of my aunt's house wrong when the police were here in the early hours.
So I rang her and asked if she'd been phoned by the police. She hadn't, so after finding the words I told her that he'd been in holiday in America (we didn't know he'd gone), and that he had died in his hotel room. After getting over the initial shock she asked how it happened, and after telling her she said that she'd be coming home straight away as soon as she'd let people know (my aunt who she was staying with, her mother who'd gone up with her, my older sister who was in university in Liverpool, my dad's sisters, and one of my mums friends who's a close friend of the family).
After what felt like hours the policeman arrived back home with my sister, and after running to the door to see her I could see that, although not at the moment, she'd clearly been crying (she had red puffy eyes). They both came in, Colin (the policeman) made sure we were both ok, and let himself out.
I gave my sister a hug and we were left alone for a few minutes, asking each other if we were both ok and everything else, and then the door rang again. It was my mum's friend, who must've rushed up as soon as she got the message of what happened.
We talked for a while, about what happened, how we felt and how we'd both been told. My sister was in the music room when the headmaster came to the door asking her to go with him. He carried her school bag and chatted with her on the way to his office, where she saw the policeman and, after taking a seat, she was told the news.
Now, I feel I need to explain a few things about my dad, so you can get the full picture.
Him and my mum had been separated for about 2 years, going through a divorce, which very recently had been completed. The reasons for the breakdown of the marriage were more or less entirely his fault. He was an alcoholic, and had been getting drunk regularly for about 3-4 years while he was living with us. In fact, I've often suspected that after me and my sisters had been told about it (he'd been drinking a lot when we were very young as well, but we weren't really old enough to remember it), that he used the fact that we knew as an excuse to get away with it, as if us not being shocked by his behavious anymore somehow made it ok.
Anyway, about 2 years ago my mum had had enough and they both agreed that the marriage was over and that he should move out. He moved to a house about 2 towns away (about 20-25 minutes away by car) and, unfortunately, his behaviour didn't improve. He started phoning us several times a day, clearly drunk, which went on for months (one time he phoned non-stop for 30 minutes at 4 o'clock in the morning, on a day when I had an A-Level History exam), which effectively made us almost weary of answering the phone anymore as he would take absolutely ages to get to whatever point it was that he was making (more often than not there was none), and usually broke down crying before hanging up.
On the very few times that me and my sisters could bare to go and visit him we'd be welcome by a filthy house with him usually asleep on the couch on top of a pile of dirty washing, and drunk too many times (even though we always phoned him a few days in advance to give him enough time to prepare himself).
I hope you can understand therefore, that we didn't see him very often during those 2 years. In fact we even went to his house on boxing day 2005, and not only had he not prepared anything (he said he'd have a meal or something for us all to have together) but he'd clearly had drink or two (his excuse for the obvious smell of gin on his breath was Egyptian aftershave :rolleyes: ).
Sometimes it could be as much as 6 months between visits, it was just too painful to go and see him any more often than that. In fact the night of that boxing day I cried (and proper crying, not just the lump you might get in your throat when you see or hear something really sad) for the first time since my grandfathers funeral 5 years earlier, not only because of his behaviour but also the thought that this was what his life was like, booze, drugs, self pity and loneliness, and there was nothing I could do about it. I couldn't help him, it was something he had to do for himself.
Clearly it's now apparent that he never managed to do so.
The reason I say this is because, as sad as this situation should be, I haven't shed a single tear, or felt any particular feelings of sadness or grief. In fact yesterday afternoon one of my friends and 2 of my sisters friends came over and we had a laugh about, well, normal things (at one point my friend was looking for videos of fat animals on youtube).
Anyway, my point is that I feel that this isn't a normal way to deal with this. I mean, it's probably down to the minimal contact I've had with him these past 2 years, but I still can't help but feel that I should at least be feeling something a little more than the occasional pang of guilt for not going to see him more often, or not saying certain things to him at, well, any point in my life (I imagine the latter is a normal thing to feel), and I suppose I just wanted you guys to understand that and not judge me too harshly for it.
The reason I'm sharing this with you is because, my friend aside, I haven't really had a chance to get this off my chest. My mum, bless her, is just so busy phoning people and trying organise things, that she just doesn't really have the time, and my older sister doesn't really let me get a word in when we talk (it's always been like that with her). My little sister is uncharacteristically quiet (understandably), so I don't fell like I can talk about it with her. Also, I suppose, being her older brother, I feel like I'm supposed to stay strong for her and look after her, so I don't really feel comfortable telling her these things.
I shared some of my feelings with my mums friend yesterday, who just let me talk without interrupting, so I'm grateful for that, but I hadn't really had much time to think about it properly at the time so most of these thoughts have only arisen during the course of today, in the few moments of quiet I could get.
Anyway, we're all doing ok at the moment. While my mum's been phoning the numbers given to her by the police (The British Consulate, so we can bring his body or his ashes back to the UK from the US) me and one of my aunts have been frantically looking up numbers of his old friends to tell them what's happened. We found one who's in contact with a lot of the others, so hopefully he can be a big help to us.
Who knows, maybe I'll get hit by a wave of emotion at the funeral, or maybe this is just the way I deal with death, I don't know. I just hope you guys understand how I feel.