Laugh in the face of grief

Whenever I talk about my father I end up laughing. Because the grief of his passing and the long years since cannot erase the joyful soul that he was. And that’s good and right and the way that he’d want it.

So today, on the 12th anniversary of his sudden death I’m not going to talk about missing him. I’m not going to reflect on the gap he left in the world or how it pains my heart that my daughters will never know him.

Today, I am going to talk about his sense of humour. Because of all the things people say about him, it’s the thing that comes up most. Yes, he was caring, and brave, and honest. Yes, he was human, he made mistakes. Yes he was a writer and a poet and he loved to sing*.

But more than any of that… my dad was funny.

He had a loud and infectious laugh and no one in his company could resist joining in.

I remember him answering the phone to one of my mother’s friends saying “Directory services, how may I help you?” somehow keeping a straight face while she stalled in confusion.

I remember family meals at a local restaurant, putting our name down as “four-four” so that the poor manager was forced to announce “Table for four for four-four” when our table was ready.

I remember “Oh what an ugly baby!” and “Steak and Kidderly Pie” (“That’s what I said diddle-I?”).

When I was a teenager he told me that Rick Astley wasn’t a real person. That he was just made up by Stock Aitken Waterman as a way to sell more records. That, if I slowed down the speed of my Kylie record, I’d hear Rick. I believed every single word.

One day I’ll tell you his favourite jokes;  ‘There’s no ‘F’ in Haddock’ and ‘How many Elephant’s can you fit in an ammerfor?’. You’ll groan… but then you’ll chuckle… because they’re funny! Well I think they are anyway…

Today I remember my dad and laugh in the face of grief.

*I didn’t say he could sing.