My Father’s Passing
I write to you from the shadow of grief and the Autumn light of gratitude.
On the waning moon, between eclipses, on August 8th 2026 my dear father took his last breath. I was by his side. We were in hospital with bright white walls inside and thirsty trees in pots outside the window. We had warmed the room with our love, me and my brothers and brought in the many colours of memories. We played him Mozart. I sang to him as he struggled between the worlds. I stroked his thick white hair and smiled into his deep blue eyes. We all told him we loved him, words not spoken often enough in our family. He was 90. He said on his 90th birthday in May, that he had lived too long that he was ready to go. He had dementia but was lucid and clear, except when tired and stressed, until the last week of his life.
He was a humble, self effacing man. An Officer in the Royal Navy for 40 years and so proud of that. He became a teacher after his career in the Navy and taught into his 80s. He was a lover of nature, music and art. He supported us four, his children, through all our choices that often seemed alien to him. He admired and championed us. He adored his 6 grandchildren and delighted in their play. He collected toys and books and, apparently, nail scissors and nit combs and many many more things we have found squirrelled away neatly in boxes in his bedroom.
He left boxes and boxes of all his collections and little else. There is no physical inheritance for us. We are his legacy, his children, his grandchildren and all those that knew and loved him. I don't think there were many who knew and did not love him. His legacy is to live with his qualities of respect, kindness, compassion, and humour.
Our differences were many and they feel so irrelevant now. We will remain united by our love of life, of travel, language, nature and all the arts. Our love grows. And sadness still washes over me like the breakers of the sea. Settling into a calm lapping of the waves which leave me thoughtful and tender.
He was also stubborn and sometimes frustrated. I don't think he ever got angry with me even when I was arrested for protesting against nuclear armaments whilst he was working in the Ministry of Defence. My brothers' said he 'spoilt' me by taking my side. Maybe he was influenced by his own experience as a child. I was the youngest of 4, with 3 older brothers, he was the youngest of 4, with 3 older sisters. Maybe they taught him compassion, especially my Aunt Betty, who I never knew, she was 'not quite right' my dad would say, and he loved her deeply. For him 'real life' was more interesting that novels and my pursuit and fascination with Biography work agrees with him. I want to remind everyone to capture their stories and of those they love.
A week or so after he died I wanted to tell everyone about him. I wanted to celebrate him in a way he was never able to celebrate himself. I want him to be seen. Because he and my mother gave me life. His death has returned to me his love of classical music and his tender care for the flame of the human spirit in adversity. It has given me more compassion, forgiveness and fewer demands on life. My father loved me, he loves me. I wanted to shout that out too. It may seem commonplace but the impact of that common miracle is gradually filling my entire being. With it, I take up my place in the world. May the commonplace become more common. May the gift of being human continue to grow as an art.
May the loving memory of Victor Stanley Valentine Duke live on in his grandchildren and great grandchildren. He was a true gentle - man, one friend said that they don't make them like him any more. May the young men growing up under our care and guidance prove her wrong. We love you Grandpa.
Each grief brings its own sorrows and joys. I wonder what your griefs have brought you? Our Mother Nature retreat on 29th November will be exploring some of the tapestries of grief.