Chapter Three

Well work isn't on my mind today but I guess in maybe a week I will go back to it and try and encourage babies to smile and families to look happy…

Today is Friday and it's the day we bury your Mother and the love of my life…

Lucy I know you will look lovely; you have your Mother's beauty and her poise and grace. Paul and Ewan the suits we bought together look stunning, as Paul said we three look very much like the *Men in Black* now if only I had a flashy thing to make us all forget the last 10 days. Beattie says we look very handsome and that Rita would be proud of us. Then there is you Evie; my beautiful wee girl who is wearing a black taffeta party dress minus the tiara. Not even Anna could find anything more suitable for a 5 year old lass to wear to her Mother's funeral. Tanya and Samuel will be there too. Quite what Samuel will look like in his tiny black suit is anyone's guess but he'll be there and he'll want me to be Granddad so I'll try.

This is supposed to be a day where we celebrate Rita's life but I don't know if I can do that. I celebrate all that she was in you four children but how can I put that in to words? I don't think I'm expected to speak at the service and the only requirement I stated was that you children wouldn't have to either unless you wanted to and you Lucy, the girl I wish was truly my daughter too, you so bravely asked to be allowed to read a passage. I know you'll make me proud and your Mum too.

We'll get through the service but what I'm really dreading is when everyone comes back here for the wake. I know that Beattie, Anna, Michelle and Sarah have cleaned and scrubbed and polished until down there gleams, and I know that when we get back the caterers will be here to serve finger foods and a buffet that I suspect we will be eating for days after as well.

What are we meant to do while everyone is here? Mingle? Tell amusing anecdotes? Sit morosely and glare at everyone until they leave? I really don't know and I'm just hoping that no one stays too long. I just want to be left alone with my memories or with you four and yours.

Memories, that makes me think of the night last week when we dug through the box of old photographs and you all choose a photo of Mum for your bedrooms. That was great, we even all laughed. I'd almost forgotten what you all sound like when you laugh but once again and for a few minutes the house rang with laughter again until we all seemed to remember what we were doing and stopped.

Hanging the photos was good too. I enjoyed finding the right frames and just the right spot. I enjoyed it so much that after you had all gone to bed I went around the house and took down all the abstracts, all the landscape pictures we had on the walls and replaced them with photos of Mum. In some of them we are with her too but in a lot of them it's just her. It's comforting to see her in almost every room. Well it comforts me and as none of you has said different for now I'll choose to believe they comfort you as well.

I didn't hang one in any of the bathrooms. I told myself it was because I didn't want the steam to spoil the photographs but really it's because I don't want her watching me when I'm in the shower. I'm still a man, and I still have needs, and I don't want her watching me do that. Note to self, *Dave censor that part when you show this to the kids.*

I need to go now, it's time to leave. I'll come back and write more afterwards.

-

It's hours later and the house is quiet at last. You are all in bed again and we have laid your Mum to rest.

Lucy you were magnificent. I couldn't have stood up there in the pulpit and at the lectern and have done what you did today. If Rita was present at any of today's events she was beaming as she watched you take your turn. My boys you were so brave too and Evie you were a joy, it's in no way a lie to say I could not have done it without you all.

Even back here you four kept me going and Tanya too of course, but this diary isn't for her. She has Michelle still. This diary is for you four, my four fixed corners in a world full of misplaced angles and shapes now that we have lost our anchor through the sea of life.

And so I find myself at last in bed and writing in her diary that has become mine. I've found myself flicking through the last few pages she wrote. I've read snatches and some words have leapt off the page at me. It still doesn't feel quite right to read it all yet but I do remember my promise, even though it was wrung from me, to get you kids a dog. As I recall it was to be a rescue dog, and I know I said a wee one with batteries but we will get a dog, and yes it will be a wee one but no it won't have batteries. A promise is a promise even now. Maybe even more so now. After all, if I'm all you've got I can't start going back on my promises now can I?