When I was little we had a playhouse in the garden.
My Dad had built it three times, every time we moved house.
He was very poorly and I don’t remember a time when he would have been physically able to do that.
It had a hand painted sign above the door that said “Little Woods”- that was the name of our house. Our last name is Woods.
It’s my favourite memory of growing up.
The only tattoo I ever wanted was a row of 5 “Little Woods” trees, one for each of my family.
Since the divorce, that didn’t feel right, plus none of us talk much anymore.
Then my Dad died, it was his time.
I decided on two trees, one for me and my Dad, side by side.
That was how we spent much of his last days. On the sofa, drinking tea, side by side.
I’ve only told about 3 people this story.
I don’t talk about him much because it’s still hard. My family don’t talk about death and grief either.
When I told them I was getting a tattoo most of them were mad, they didn’t see the meaning behind it. When people ask about it now, I can’t go into detail without getting upset. I joke about it being a funny anecdote of my surname.
Actually, it means a lot, and my Dad would have been the only one to say “that’s a great idea, get on with it”.
written by katie