Still in its torn packet, the cheese has evolved into something other than food. I refuse to imagine the meal when I finish itSign up for a weekly email featuring our best readsMy father died suddenly and I’m still working my way through the half block of cheese that I rescued from his fridge. After a hastily organised funeral where I delivered a eulogy too long for the warm afternoon, he was cremated. My brother collected his ashes and his favourite T-shirt.But his cheese lives on. Still in its torn packet, with one of Dad’s trademark purple elastic bands keeping it sealed, it has evolved into something other than food, and I refuse to imagine the meal when I finish it. My logic being that if it exists then so, somehow, does my dad. Continue reading…