Sunday evening, the 12th of July, I got the dreaded phone call: my father had fallen about and was on the way to the hospital. I immediately started to pack a few things, but before the next ferry was due to leave our island, I got another phone call to say that he had died peacefully, without any further contact.
We knew that he had an untreatable aneurism, and that he would go quickly if, or when, this would burst. Still, it is a shock when it happens.
He would have been 85 on Aug. 1st this year, and we had already started to plan his birthday. This was not to happen, – instead we were all gathered for his funeral on Friday 17th July. During the days of planning and organizing the funeral, the nearest family have spent a lot of time together, and in between the tears, we have also been sharing a lot of fond memories.
My father was a carpenter, and a very active and practical man. He built the house we grew up in, cleared several acres of wilderness to be able to keep a few sheep and grow vegetables, built the barn and other outhouses, and in time also built, or helped to build, several of his children’s houses. He got restless whenever he did not have anything to do with his hands.
Below is a photo of my older sister and me, sporting our new doll’s prams which he had made from plywood.
We are lucky to have so many fond memories.