Glory, glory Man Utd & loss

Last weekend was the FA Cup. Man U were playing Man City and I’ll be honest, instead of watching I went shopping with mum. Poor supporter, my husband would say but there’s a couple of painful reasons not to watch.

Firstly Man U have been pretty disappointing this season and I couldn’t face the prospect of being beaten by the smug blues from the same city. Secondly, and more poignantly, the FA Cup brings up so much grief and loss that I find it hard to be around.

Let me take you back to May 1977, I’m 5 years old, obsessed with my dad, who was obsessed with Man Utd, which meant I too was becoming obsessed with the red devils. I remember cuddling up to dad on the sofa on the Saturday morning of the match. The TV coverage started at about 10am I think. Talk of what the teams would be eating for breakfast, footage from outside the hotel. Rumors of which designer would be making their suits. More coverage of the team bus and eventually the teams emerge from the hotel, in shiny new suits with red carnations in their lapels! The helicopter footage following them to Wembley and the crowds all along the route. Then the warm up on the pitch, commentators speculating on the final team selection and predicting the score. All the while I had a hundred questions for dad – who’s that? where are they going now? Why are they doing that? He patiently answered them all. Mum brought us tea and treats, maybe we had lunch at some stage, but the whole day revolved around the sofa, the TV and Man U. And us, together.

It’s getting close to the match, the teams have come down the tunnel, assembled on the pitch, mascots and all (I always dreamed of being one of those). And then the bit I don’t think I will ever be able to watch again – the full stadium singing Abide with me. Every time dad and I watched a FA cup over the years it made me choke up with tears. There is something about that song and a stadium full of people singing it.

That’s why I chose it for daddy’s funeral. It was my memory filled goodbye, of the countless times we’d sat together and heard it sung. But at his funeral the reality that him and I would never again sit side by side as we listen to the stadium fill with ‘I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless
Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness. Where is death’s sting? Where, grave, thy victory?I triumph still, if Thou abide with me,’ had not sunk in.

It has slowly after 2 years later finally sinking in. The loss of him has grown more acute, that I can’t kiss his cheek or put on his coat and cap ever again more heartbreaking. I made it home on Saturday for the second half of the match and I got to celebrate Man U winning another FA Cup just like they did in 1977, but this time without my beloved daddy.

I made Jason watch the 99 documentary with me this week about the time Man U won the treble. True love right there – a Liverpool supporter having to sit through the glory days of Man Utd. He knew I wouldn’t cope watching it on my own. I wanted Dad with me for every minute of the series, so we could chat about it and he would remember a million details I’ve forgotten or never noticed in the first place.

There is a realization more than ever that Man Utd and Ivan are so inextricably linked that I can’t think about one without grieving the other. I will never be able to walk down Sir Matt Busby way, get fish and chips from Macaris chippy, or see the wee men selling the match day badges, or jostle through the turnstiles at Old Trafford without Ivan. My heart and legs would never carry me, the weight of grief too much for them to bear.

I’m learning, slowly, that grief comes in many different ways, through the often unexpected things, but it comes none the less. A wise woman advised me 2 years ago that the important thing is to let it move when it does come, not to push it down, or try to swerve around it, but let it move through you.

So weirdly, thank you Man Utd for winning the FA Cup and for the memories from 99, you helped me and grief to move some more this past week.