Bereavements and Shark diving

I was still recovering from the sea-sickness pills I had taken. The whole day we had been out on a sea excursion, bobbing and bouncing over wave after wave, but the small yellow pills I had picked up from the local pharmacy had had my head bobbing more than the boat. We had been out searching for whale sharks, those mighty beasts, found in tropical waters. We eventually found one, as did around 20 other small speed boats, buzzing around excitedly. They must have been so pleased with all the attention.  

Back at the hotel, windswept, weathered, with the taste if the sea still lingering on my lips, I was finally able to connect to a reliable WiFi spot. Really odd seeing that I had a missed call from my oldest brother. Our relationship had been almost non-existent since who-knows when. The occasional acknowledgment on online chat applications, and in the forced-occasions when we were in each others presence. 

Really odd. 

A missed call from my Mum too. 

My heart started to pick up it's pace, overcoming the slow beat the yellow pills had inflicted throughout the day.  

I returned the call to my Mum. A really poor signal. When she answered, she sounded tired.

"Hello love" she half whispered.

"Mum, what's happened? I have a million missed calls."

"I'm so sorry Will, your...your Dad's died."

Silence. I knew it was coming. We all had known for a long time. His Alzheimer's had left very little of the person he once was. But when it came, it crashed through like a wrecking ball. 

My father had died. 

I hung up the phone, and sat back in the reclining chair. I had a glass of rum in one hand, which I sipped slowly, trying to come to terms with the news. It was a strange sensation. I had seen the tragic downfall of the man who had raised me, seeing how a cruel disease had hollowed out who he was. A sense of relief at the end of the struggle, at the end of the pain. An acceptance that it had finally come to an end. The tears welled up in my eyes, and I looked up at my new wife of 7 days, and simply muttered:

"My Dad's dead".

Quite the Honeymoon.