Passing Into Shadows Into Light
A deeply personal update
Not exactly what I wanted to be writing. On Saturday, October 21 my father, Raymond John Povey, passed away. This is the most recent photo I have of him, from November last year. And yes, he is blepping. Because my dad. Because even when he didn’t know where he was, he was still always, to the end who he was.
My father had vascular dementia, likely caused by a traumatic brain injury. He was delusional and residing in a memory care unit. Despite this, I expected he would be in the world a few more years yet.
(Note: While I’m not going to talk about the circumstances of his death, I will say right now: The care home gave him the best of care. They were communicative and caring and their staff were great. I do not want anyone to think this is one of those stories).
My father had a vivid imagination and a love of conspiracy theories, as long as they didn’t hurt anyone. He would hunt for Templar treasure and speculate about the location of Atlantis. He adored the idea that the Vikings got to the New World first…then lost all interest when it turned out to be true. It stopped being fun then.
I watched Doctor Who on his knee, starting a lifelong relationship with that show. He encouraged my reading even though his severe dyslexia kept him from reading for pleasure (he consumed much fiction, but it was on the “goggle box” instead). He loved a good trashy movie.
He could spin a yarn, perhaps courtesy of his mysterious Irish grandfather. Okay, his asshole Irish grandfather who got thrown out of the gene pool for good reason and remained mysterious because nobody wanted to talk about him.
My father was my first muse. He encouraged my imagination. He also, hilariously, told me it was okay if I was a lesbian while I was trying to work out my sexuality (dear dad, you were…half right). He never understood bisexuality and made snail jokes about it, and once referred to a bisexual person as “They’re like you” rather than use the word. But he never judged and I know if I had married a woman he would have given me the exact same support.
His best friends included a legit, for real, exiled African prince (He spun yarns, but I got some of it from the man himself) and a gay former sailor.
He went along with the name my mother chose, but he wasn’t thinking Jennifer. He was an Arthurian junky and had it been left to him he would have stuck me with Guinevere. Same name, mind, but I got to escape with the easier to spell modern version. Then again, Guinevere Povey would have been a really cool name for a SF author…
My father believed in fairies and science, and that the one did not in any way impact or preclude the other. He believed stars were alive. He saw the universe as alive at so many levels, although the part of it he most appreciated was birds. He was often to be found with a pair of binoculars around his neck or even, when he could manage it, in a hide with a spotting scope. I didn’t have the patience to watch birds as a child, but now I appreciate them a lot more because of him.
He spent the last part of his life living in his own world with profound delusions, but they were never bad delusions. When I called I would find him living in a castle, on a horse farm, at an arctic research station. Once, I think he even left the planet. But he never lost track of who he was or who I was and I am thankful and grateful for that.
I’m going to miss you, Daddy.
Walk through shadow into light. Walk in a world where you are no longer halt and no longer mad. Walk into the embrace of your ancestors. I love you.
Coming Soon
Next week’s Tuesday post will be about the Law of Functional Complexity and how it may mean everything in our universe is alive.
I hope to have a cover reveal for Tyranis fairly soon. My poor cover artist is buried under her day job, but is working on it.
I will be flying back to the U.K. for a few days to handle my father’s funeral. I don’t have exact dates yet. Posts will be, I hope, queued, but I also hope people will forgive me if something doesn’t arrive.