Birth, death and taxes

Birth, death and taxes. The three certainties of life. Oh, that and Cliff Richard being in his 3rd age -defying cyborg identity (IMO he spent a decade too long in his circa 1981 ‘Wired for Sound’ cyborg body, rousing my suspicions in the first place) The man is without doubt, a robot.
The three topics above are responsible for some of the most extreme behavioural changes we can muster as human beings. Birth brings extreme pain (then extreme joy of course, hopefully, most of the time), death brings extreme sadness, possibly extreme loneliness to those of us left to fight the void of a loved ones passing. And taxes, well-ask the poor buggers on the end of the phones at the IRD about that one.

This week will mark the first week, the first day I haven’t thought of my father the instant I have woken from sleep and been hit hard in the stomach by the harder truth that he is not here anymore. For himself, for his grand-daughter or for me.
My Dad passed away in the early hours of 18th November last year from a common lifestyle related cancer. It was a blessing (as they say) and he lived a pretty good and full life. I had spent a great deal of time with him in the 18 months he had had his illness and grabbed at the opportunities presenting themselves to care for my Dad whenever I could. We had become much closer since my gorgeous and talented Mum had died, 16 years ago. However, try as I might, I could not stop the inevitable spread of an incurable disease.

I worked here at the nursery on the day Dad died, honouring him really, for his work ethic, and the (extreme) joy he gleaned from working surrounded by nature for the last 40 years of his life. Yes- it was my coping mechanism- but it was also a way of saying to myself- she’ll be right.

Peter Gray- 1939-2017

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