It’s a year since my father died. A year to the day since I was advised to go immediately to his care home, because he had not long to live. In the end – because of late-running trains – I did not get there before Dad passed away.

I arranged his funeral and reception, applied for probate, took his ashes to be scattered in Scotland, sold the family car, and finally the house this summer. It was all pretty straightforward.

Mum has accepted the changes to her life amazingly well. She seems to know that the house has been sold, though I did not tell her.

If I no longer wake in the early hours worrying about Dad, I still worry about Mum. Her health is clearly declining, and over the last year she has had two short spells in hospital after seizures, followed recently by a procedure to fit a new pacemaker battery.

But she seems content in her care home

I have been up to see Mum every few weeks since Dad passed away. Not that I am complaining; I am very lucky to still have my mother at my age (68, since you ask). Anne and I have enjoyed our trips north, though it has sometimes been stressful.

Since Anne’s retirement we have spent a lot of time socialising, and taken holidays in France, Spain and Greece, as well as around the UK. If you’ve read my previous posts you’ll be in no doubt that we are enjoying life while we can. Time marches on. Dad was not enjoying his life towards the end, which was inevitable in his situation but sad to see. At 96 years of age he was unwell and unhappy in the care home, although he was comforted by the knowledge that it was the best place, the only place, for Mum, whom he still loved, even if she was no longer the person he’d married in 1952.

***

I was sitting in the garden last week, thinking about Dad. Would he have been happy about the decisions I’ve made over the last 12 months? I am sure I am not the only man who feels, at least from time to time, that he should have been more understanding, more helpful – or simply spent more time with his father.

Did Mum and Dad enjoy their final decade together or were they lonely as they ceased to go out and see their neighbours? We did take them on holiday breaks, but could I have done more? It would have been easier had I not been the only child, living more than 200 miles away. Then there was the Covid lockdown. You can always come up with excuses for not visiting more often.

They rarely put any pressure on me, at least not until near the end. Dad was always fiercely independent, and he certainly didn’t want me or anyone else to take charge of his life. In fact he fought quite hard to keep cleaners and care assistants away.

I do not pass my days in regret mode

But I do reflect on the past, believing that it is never too late to change for the better. I don’t think I am a bad person, but neither do I go out of my way to help others at the expense of denying myself pleasure. I’m sociable, I’m loyal, I’m not mean, I’m not aggressive, but I am rather self-obsessed. Otherwise, would I be writing this, my 106th blog post? We all want to be liked but none of us, I assume, is perfect. I’m prepared to listen and learn.

How do others see us?

Earlier this year a friend, whom I had known for decades, made it clear that our long relationship was at an end. We had exchanged personal stories over the years and had been on holiday together regularly, always having a good time. Whilst I thought everything was fine, he began, subtly, to avoid me. It transpired that he had been thinking about terminating our friendship for a long time… years, in fact.

It came as a complete shock

Apparently, it was about my changed values. Another friend said, “Values? I didn’t realise you had any.” I think it was intended to make me laugh. I am aware that I have my faults: for example, I drink too much and can be a bit of a show-off. Did I tell one or two off-colour jokes when my guard was down?

Boastful, insensitive, selfish?

Possibly, but I’m just guessing. I would have liked to have found out what in particular got his goat, but – let’s be generous – he may have been sparing my feelings by leaving it undefined. To be told out of the blue was traumatic, and the way it was done made me quietly angry once I’d got over the shock. But I suppose it’s better that he said what he did than carried on gritting his teeth in my presence.

We have not seen each other since, in spite of my request for a meeting to clear the air. So that, as they say, is that.

***

To return to Dad: although I’ve previously blogged that he might have been a bit disappointed in how I turned out, I don’t think he really was. He had his faults, as I certainly have mine. We loved each other even when we expressed different opinions.

We rarely had a proper row

He told me, not long before he died, that I ought to “take my time and listen to people”. That’s worth pondering, although I suspect what he meant at the time was “listen to me”. It could be the family motto. In truth we agreed on most things (Brexit being a notable exception!) and our values were pretty similar.

***

The sad reality is that human beings do grate on each other, and sometimes it ends in tears. Another friend (I have a few left, I like to think) said, “You never know what’s going on in someone else’s head”. And do you really want to? It is perhaps as well that most of us choose to live in little boxes rather than communes.