Another Year Passes

In the coming weeks, I will be celebrating a 7th birthday, a 21st birthday, my wedding anniversary and (I hope) releasing two more books.

Last month we celebrated a 19th birthday, but it was painfully poignant because it also marked the 1st anniversary of the loss of my father. Needless to say, my wife, my son and I were most subdued at my daughter's 18th celebrations, as the only ones who knew of events elsewhere.

The following morning, we sat the girls down and told them... and I'm so very glad we waited. Philippa and Francesca (the birthday girl of the previous evening) were inconsolable. In a way I felt so terrible for keeping it from them, but in the midst of what had been a happy gathering, this confirmed my decision to be vindicated.

Even so, a year and a bit later, I still feel annoyed with myself that I could not bring myself to tell them.

I'm never really sure how best to describe my dad... I guess he was typical of his generation, in that he didn't tolerate stupidity or any rule-breaking. As a child, I learned that you followed the rules... no, we're not talking about beatings and confinement...

I learned how life worked... how families worked (and you can believe me when I say that my family - both immediate and wider - were as far as you can get from "typical") and whether he felt he had done a good job or not, he guided me through a lot of crap he knew nothing about. A BIG part of me is really thankful for that.

Anyway... its a whole year later. Here I sit on the eve of a birthday and another week at work... Life goes on.

It's funny. He actually said that to me once... Life goes on...

Is he missed? Yes. Every week... every day.

Is he forgotten? I'd be lying if I said No. There are those tiny moments when everything is happening around you and you just... get on with it. Later, in reflection, it is easy to think, "If dad had seen that..." and I do... From time to time.

I grieved for my children as much as I did for my dad. They lost someone special... and they knew it. They all went to the funeral. They all understood. They had earned their right to say goodbye, despite those who told us it was no place for children.

So... what now?

I guess I carry on. I have to assume that it is only a matter of time before I become 'Taid' (grandfather) to one of my children's children. As much as that scares the hell out of me, I'm sort of looking forward to it... but I also know it's not something that is on the imminent horizon.

My son is older than I was when I married my wife... and he is in no hurry to settle down.

My daughters are all busy with work and studies... no relationships on the horizon there either.

I suppose I'm trying to say what dad once said... Life goes on. It will go on for me and for my family... for my sister in Bulgaria who misses him terribly... for Auntie M, the partner he left behind...

I spoke to him on the afternoon of the day he died. We chatted generally, though he sounded out of breath and I made him promise to go and see the nurse on the holiday camp where he was staying. I asked if he wanted me to get Fran to phone him when she got home, but he said to leave it until tomorrow. His last words to me were, "You get back to sorting out the party, and tell Francesca I'll call in with something for her on the way home next week."

And that was that.

In the days that followed, I was given a lot of advice... A LOT of advice. One that seemed to stick, was 'We never really let go, we never really forget. We just keep the best stuff for when we have time to appreciate it.'

But, just in case we forget to say it often enough... "Dad! Will you please lay off those bloody awful jokes!!!"

I don't expect this to mean a great deal to a great many of you out there in cyberworld, but I wanted to write it.