Just back from my Dad's 83rd birthday party
It was at Alison's (his new girlfriend's) house, it being much bigger than his own, and through my brother who's secretary of the London Charity Orchestra he had found a violinist and pianist to play the Franck Piano Sonata. So we started with a drink, then had the music - they were really brilliant, everyone was riveted - and then lunch. A smashing occasion and Dad had a lovely time.
My brother has both made it, and Dad's brother and sister-in-law, and two or three cousins. But most of the guests were friends from the locality. Dad has made a deliberate effort to get out and make new friends, and has created a circle of some very nice and interesting people, which is really great.
It made me feel a bit queer, though, talking to Dad's friends and realising that most of them had never met my mother. He's obviously talked about her a lot, and they get that she was somebody really special, but to them she's a legend, hearsay. Don't get me wrong, of course I'm delighted he has new friends and a new life; I really am. But it makes her seem more completely dead than I've ever felt her to be.