The Transition

Amid the general chaos of taking the children to see my dad on Tuesday morning there was a sobering moment when he showed me "where everything is".

During periods of illness he's been keen to show me the spot. And refusing to go along with it, I've jokingly always ignored his requests.

But given the state of his flat, this really hasn't been a good idea. Given the state of my flat, it's probably even more important for me to do some pruning myself because I don't even know where everything is.

He has problems with his leg and it is causing him a great deal of pain. I don't think it is life threatening but coupled with treatment for prostate cancer, there's only so much the body can take.

My worry is that he'll have to go into hospital and though I love the National Health Service, even I know enough about the bugs flying round hospitals to cede to the realities of 21st century care.

So while he awaits the tests my hope is that he won't have to go in again.

The important thing was that he had a good time with his loud and vulgar grandchildren and they had their usual fill of his food and remember him for that rather than a huge pot of money and lavish presents.

Legacies are a funny thing. Especially if you never grow up with both parents in the same house.

I guess you just get a different experience. Now is really the time to ask what the effect was but I don't have the time to sit and ponder as I am in the thick of bringing up his grandchildren.

What do I look back on and remember clearly? An afternoon in the park? Going to watch a film? Walking along a train platform?

How to describe a non resident parent? I have no idea. It was always just like that. How to describe my dad? I have no idea. I've never tried.

And it's not yet time for retrospectives.