Gone fishing

The Captain's father died this morning.
Suddenly.
He had been on a little holiday. He had done a spot of fishing in a beautiful coastal spot.
He got on a bus to travel toward home. He fell asleep. And then he died. Just like that.
All the other passengers got off the bus and then someone noticed that he was still sitting in his seat. Gone fishing.


The Batsman went to kinder this morning. We had only known about Pa for half an hour. The "how do you explain death to a child"question still hanging heavy.
The Batsman headed straight for the drawing table, his usual first starter.
I watched him. A quick drawing and he was off. Scuttling over to a game he had seen in a corner of the kinder.
A fishing game. With a couple of little fishing rods with a string and magnet on the end. Fish swam in a "pond" with paper clips stuck to their backs ready to be caught.
And the Batsman, he caught fish. Just like that.
The grandchild generation. Gone fishing.
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He was a gentle man, the Captain's dad. He was one of those people about whom others say 'he doesn't have a mean bone in his body'. And he didn't.
He had his problems. The grog wreaked havoc on mind and body over the years. The pokies took their toll too. He wasn't a well man.
But he was gentle and kind. He was quiet but always had a little joke to tell or a trick to show the kids.


This Christmas just gone, he did something special and unexpected for the Batsman and the Bowler. He made their Christmas gifts. A truck and a cement roller, made out of wood, crafted with his hands and tools. They came emblazoned with the boy's names and decorated with stickers from the two dollar shop. It would have taken his shaky hands hours to make them.
They are beautiful and will be treasured across lifetimes.


Farewell Pa.
We will miss you.