I'm upset today. I posted this.
Today is one year since my father died, i woke up at 01.08am. I looked at the circumstances and although they said he passed away on 16th, I believe it was in the early hours of the 16th. It has been a difficult year and i feel that when i've said cruel things in jest like "keep your tangy photos to yourself Mr. so and so" or hang on until i locate my microscope if you are stupid enough to send that photo, especially without an invite" and worse things but i can't remember them all, to some who contacted me, that he was laughing so much because although we were close in the more recent years, we were not so close when i was a child. There are many reasons for this and it was in some ways a journey too of reparation and unselfishly for myself (not selflessly), my view of him in the past 20 years or so was unwavering and totally unchanged. Things had to be right, including a right time for me to do things or make changes for example. He was always so happy to hear about work and things and i was visiting him quite often and before he died. The service a year ago was unusual to me personally because, my father had rosaries in his bedroom on a picture of J.C, that i have kept. I also found some rosary beads broken in a drawer and fixed it and bought a metal cross to hang on it. So they are now together. The broken rosary i remember from my childhood, it was hanging on a octagonal oblong mirror. The service was strange because i felt i saw his other deceased relatives collect him and put him up to the cross in the church. This seemed appropriate. I didn't know what might happen after because you only have one father. I remember saying to a Salvation Army officer when at a service many years ago, "I can not say the lord's prayer, my father is still alive". He looked at me somewhat quizzically though was not alarmed. Today i imagined my father's sister pulling him up onto a top shelf (where his photo is) and he happy to leave. I never imagined this could be possible. It was a respectful thing. I then envisaged and it was odd, Jesus Christ. Some figures collected him from what seemed the floor. I saw what seemed like an excessively long nail being put into one of his hands, I think it was his left hand, i could not intervene. It was as if i was being told "this must be done". It was horrible almost like it was a normality. I said to them, if you must do it, tie his wrists 'very' tightly. My thought in that was, that by doing so, he would not feel it as much. Being a witness to something i could not prevent was not pleasant at all and neither did i consider myself an accomplice. I had no say in it. Then some tears came from what seemed like the very deep backs of my eyes. My face felt like my own but i was looking through my fathers eyes for a moment, maybe because i hadn't yet. It was spontaneous. This is normal anyway. R.I.P dad. I now feel that he is kind of smiling with his sister Lena (and Jack) about my methodicalness.