My dad has died but his watch ticks on. Why does that feel so heartless? | Adrian Chiles

It was a cheap little thing, but Dad was obsessed with it. For some reason I thought it would stop when he did

After my dad died, this thing happened that I can't get past. It was when I went to the undertaker to get his ashes. They weren't ready, said the lady there, but she did have his watch to give me. This she handed over in a little velvety bag. As she went into an explanation about the hold-up with the ashes, I got the watch out of the bag and just stared at it, stunned. I couldn't believe that it was still ticking away, showing the correct time. I mean, I know: why would a cheap, battery-powered watch have died just because the wrist it had been around had gone for ever? At some level I must have thought it would have had the decency to stop at the moment that my dad stopped, as a mark of respect. But no, on it went regardless, heartless.

It's funny what gets you. And what doesn't. Dates, for example, mean nothing at all to me. I was asked on Sunday if I felt particularly sad about my dad. I didn't really get where the question had come from, even though I knew it was Father's Day as my daughters had texted me. I just didn't make the connection. I felt no sadder or less sad on Sunday than I did on Saturday or Monday. And it'll be the same when his birthday comes round; and the anniversary of his death, too. Dates are just random numbers. I'm not proud of feeling this way; I've been forgetting birthdays and anniversaries - my own as well as others' - all my life, causing a fair amount of offence and upset in the process.