John Henry Trustrum 1937 -2006

It would have been my Dads birthday today. It falls around Fathers Day every year so it’s a bit of a double whammy. I have been thinking about him a lot today so wanted to do a post about him and maybe write a bit about what it’s like to lose someone. Actually, forget that, I didn’t lose him. He died.

Having to give permission to turn of my Dads machine’s in intensive care is something I hope no one has to go through but unfortunately I know that some people will. I had gone from ‘about to go a work party’ to ‘saying goodbye’ to my Dad in 12 hours. Then afterwards collecting his belongings from the Hospital (he had a new suitcase packed, he’d only gone in for an operation, he didn’t know he was going to die), signing a death certificate, dealing with a will, getting a funeral together (thank you Auntie Margaret), choosing the music and readings and all those other practical things you have no idea about. Then later scattering the ashes, then even later still finding out that after a certain length of time the plaque you placed at the Crematorium has to be removed to make way for someone else. It feels very brutal but sadly it’s another part of the process that you would never even think about.

So this year, Spring I got sent the brass plaque my brothers and I had arranged for my Dads ‘place’ at the Crematorium.  I couldn’t even remember what we had chosen to be written on it. But it had been 10 years since I scattered his ashes and it was time for the plaque to be either destroyed or kept by a family member. Of course I couldn’t allow it to be destroyed even though I had only been to the crematorium twice since he died. Once at the funeral in October 2006 and once to scatter the ashes a year later. (I’d put it off as I couldn’t bear the thought of it,  but he couldn’t stay in a plastic jar forever).  So I asked for the plaque to be sent to me.

The plaque that had been next to a rose bush in Upminster since 2006 ‘ In Loving Memory, John Henry Trustrum, 1937 – 2006, Our Dearest Dad & Friend’, for 10 years was now in my house. I can’t deny it, that was another strange experience. But in a way quite comforting. 

Then in April this year my older brother was coming over from Sydney to stay so I thought it would be the right time to get the plaque on a wooden mount that we could plant with something in my garden. My older brother, his daughter from Sweden, my younger brother and his family from Essex and my Mum from Norwich  (which was bonkers in itself) were all going to be here for lunch. But the thing about the plaque is that it arrived on it’s own. A piece of brass. No wooden stake to poke in the ground. And this is where the fun really starts.

One evening we were watching a Mel Brook’s documentary at home, my Dad loved Mel Brooks, we loved watching ‘Blazing Saddles’, and it prompted me to order a wooden stake online for the plaque for my brother’s arrival. I think it was a message from beyond the ashes to give me a swift kick up the arse. So I googled somewhere that did this kind of thing, again nothing I’d ever had to do before, measured the plaque and ordered the stake. I forgot about it until 2 days before my ‘family lunch / plaque planting session’ and realised the wooden mount still hadn’t arrived. I checked my emails and saw that the stake was not due to be despatched until 3 days after my brother had gone back to Sydney! So in a panic we cobbled one together out of some wood from B+Q and hoped for a sunny day.

Obviously, in true Trustrum style, it rained and rained and rained on the day of the lunch so after all my anxiety we left ‘my Dad’ propped up in the corner of the kitchen while we stood around snorting Doritos and downing Aldi Wine. Then about two weeks later the sun came out so I rushed outside alone and stuck him next to a young Magnolia tree planted buy the previous occupants.

But still the original, bespoke stake had not arrived. I contacted the Company and said it wasn’t here, and actually don’t worry about it as the moment had passed, I’ll just have a refund thank you very much. The stake Company apologised but said that as I hadn’t said anything sooner they could not refund me and would send the stake anyway. I said again, I didn’t want it, it was an emotional situation I’d rather move on from but they didn’t care. They would claim compensation from the courier company but would not cancel my order. Worst customer service ever. Then a month later, the stake arrived and is in my cupboard so if anyone needs one, let me know!

But now, with the plaque in my garden I feel like my Dad is home, which is stupid because this was never his home, it barely feels like my home, and his ashes are long gone in Upminster but it’s quite a nice feeling knowing now if I want to feel close to him, he is outside. I have in the last few weeks sat on the grass near the plaque and tonight, for his birthday I sat with him and had a glass of cheap Tesco Wine and a rollie. It’s what he would have wanted.

The thing about someone dying is that you do learn to live with it. I would never say you recover from it and you are certainly never the same person after going through an experience like that, but you do come to terms with a different life, over time. No one ever said this to me but, for me, it has been the case. I never said goodbye to my Dad, I never told him I was sorry for whatever I did to piss him off my whole life and I never got to tell him I understood how hard being a parent is, but he did teach me something in that hospital room at St Bart’s. I realised how precious time is. The greatest lesson he ever taught me.  When you realise that time has gone and you can’t get it back that is a hard lesson. No amount of money can buy you time or turn back the clock. No amount of jobs or bonuses or late nights in the office trying to get the approval of your boss. You need to live NOW.  I know that for my sanity and for my relationship with my son, we need to spend time together which is why in the last few years I have chosen him over my career, so maybe I am a better parent because of the relationship I had with my Dad. I have to take something from what happened and if that’s what it is, then that’s enough. I have never been confident about anything  in my life but I think, so far, I can say I’m a good Mum, which I think means he was a good Dad. 

So Happy birthday JT, under the Magnolia.  Sorry about the plaque cock up. xx

Books

After 4 months in over priced storage, my boxes of books have finally been freed and I've been unpacking them today. Our current house is a quarter of the size of the old one so while I miss the space of our old house there was a terrible tendency to never get rid of anything. We didn’t need to be particularly selective about what we brought into the house as there was always room. We didn’t need to worry about the ‘one in, one out’ rule.  So, when we moved out in October it was a real eye opener about how much stuff we had accumulated in 5 years. Not to mention all the crap the previous owner had left us... I don’t think I had got rid of a single item of my sons’ clothing or toy, not even the free ones you get on Kids Magazines. Cooking utensils were another shocker, the twice used Spiraliser, the never used Cookie Cutters our neighbours used to buy for our son, the huge industrial sized Raymond Blanc saucepan set I’d got from a shoot. Also, never used. Stuff, stuff and more stuff. Because the move came about out of the blue and happened in a relatively short space of time, there was no time to be sentimental. Everyday I was taking a least one trip to the Charity Shop with bagfuls of things. Things I knew we wouldn’t be able to take with us. Part of me felt sad that my life was so out of my control that I didn’t even have time to decide what I might want to keep, but another part of me felt liberated that actually, it just had to go. It made me feel a bit lighter.

But books. are a hard thing to part with. Predominantly because a lot of the books I have belonged to my Dad. My two brothers are not really the sentimental types and did not want to keep any of my Dads’ books when he passed away. They kept photographs and a few choice knick knacks, nothing more. But I could not let the books go. They are of no monetary value but have huge sentimental value to me. For example, my Dads Childhood Sports annuals are full of newspaper clippings about Sport event’s that were happening at the time. 

Then his books from when he was older are full of scribbles and underlined with quotes he must have liked.

From 'The Ragged Trousered Philanthropist'

From 'Down and Out in Paris and London'

Written in the back of a book. 

No idea if he copied this from something or wrote it himself.

They are like Diaries in a way, with these notes and scraps of paper in them. And while they wouldn’t mean anything to anyone else, they mean something to me, and maybe will to my son one day. (That’s another justification for me to keep them). The Grandson and Grandfather who never met. They help me understand a little more, the person who kept a roof over my head but also the person who kept himself very distant from me.  Some of the books are great, classic books, ‘Animal Farm’,  ‘Last Exit to Brooklyn’, ‘The Works of Oscar Wild’, ‘The Old Curiosity Shop’. But others are a bit more eclectic. ‘Venus in Furs’, Several Erich Von Daniken books about Spacemen visiting Earth, a book about Aleister Crowley, poetry books.

Since getting the books home and unpacking them, we still don’t have enough space. So more of my books are going. Books I’ve enjoyed but books I know I’ll never read again ‘Angela’s Ashes’, ‘The Da Vinci Code’, ‘A Boy Called It’, but again, there are some books I simply can’t part with. Particularly my Douglas Copeland books. I was happy to let ‘Microserfs’ go, but not the others.  ‘Girlfriend in a Coma’ is my favorite book and the one I’ve re-read the most. My friend Tracey bought it for my birthday. I’d never heard of him before but soon found myself devouring his books. ‘Miss Wyoming”, ‘Generation x’, ‘All Families are Psychotic’ ‘Hey Nostradamus’.  I used to pass ‘Books Etc’ on my way home from work which didn’t help my book addiction. 

And, as I’ve been looking through my books again I’ve noticed all my underlings and scribbles.

From 'Generation X'

From ' High Fidelity'.

From 'Black Hole Focus'.

And while I understand that we are all supposed to be de-cluttering for a simpler, happier existence I just can't get rid of these. Reading a book that belonged to someone else not only gives you a little bit of insight into what interested that person at a particular time in their life (like music) but you never know what else you might find among the pages. I hope that when my son gets older he will enjoy books, and our family books. I love having books around the place, it's good for my son in a world that is increasingly screen focused. My books might give him an insight to his relations and in turn maybe help him understand himself a bit better. That's what I'm telling myself anyway. And with that I will leave you with my favourite Douglas Copeland quotes: