It’s funny the moment that it hits you, completely out of the blue and when you least expect it.
For me it was standing in a supermarket and looking at the vast array of bedding plants.
Gardening is a hobby that I like to dabble in. I’m no expert. In fact, there are plants which have sprung up in my garden and I can’t remember if they are perennials or weeds. But they are colourful so I chose to ignore that fact that they perhaps should be removed.
However, for my dad it was an all-consuming passion.
He would start in January when the seed catalogues came through the letterbox and his plans for his ‘estate’ were now underway.
He would plant seeds, prick out seedlings and infuriate my mum as he turned just about every windowsill in their home into his own little greenhouses.
Then when the weather was fine it was time to plant out all that he had grown and everything he had bought.
There was rarely a trip into Falkirk or the many garden centres we visited without returning with some plant or other.
Once he was outside planting or tidying up he used to say that he couldn’t get on for the number of people who used to stand up and speak to him. However, we knew that more often than not it was him who would instigate the conversations.
It was always him I turned to for advice about what to grow and looking at these plants it suddenly seemed very real that he was no longer here – for words of wisdom on gardening or anything else.
But I can still say Happy Father’s Day.