Monday, October 20, 2014

Two Years of a Dead Dad.

Last year on this day it was the first anniversary of my Dad's death.

I never wrote about it. Looking back at my posts in October last year, I busied myself with Frocktober. I made myself so so so busy saying yes to everything. I thought I knew exactly what to do and how to deal with things.

"Don't allow any quiet moments in your brain, just fill every waking moment with tasks and the grief will not be a guest in your heart." These are the things I told myself. It worked. For awhile anyway.

The anniversary came and went and nothing happened. Dad was still dead. We were all still sad.

So here we are at year two. Dad is still dead, confirming he was not Jesus, as he has not risen from the dead. We miss him. Fuck I miss him. If I could just call him once a year that would be ok. If I could bargain with some God to just allow that at least. Even if it was a limited number of years that I got to do that. Even just one call. Let's face it, I am desperate, I will take a text message if that's all God is handing out.

Immy asked me last month if I would cut my leg off if I could see Poppy again.

Yes, I said. I would cut both my legs off.

"Wow" she said. "You know then you would have no legs?" I told her I could live with anything if it just meant we got him back.

"Would you kill yourself to let Poppy come back?" asked Miss 8.

"No." I said. "That would not really help."

As children they understand death in different ways, but these concepts change for them as they grow.

Immy has cried more. "I miss his cuddles and tickles and it's not fair that I didn't get more years with him."

Miss 8 has wished he was here to remind her of his card tricks and all the maths tricks he could do with a box of matches. He had a knack of entertaining small children at dinner tables, he played paddocks on napkins and asked them riddles appropriate for their age. He knew all the good knock knock jokes. Of course I saw the tricks many times, but I have forgotten them, I always did. She feels ripped off that she won't get to work them out. I feel ripped off too, because I know how much he wanted to live.

In my head, I have to constantly remind myself that the crap day, the shit day of remembrance is the 20th, because to me it was the 19th, the last day I saw him and hugged him goodbye. He wore a thick wool jumper that day. It was cold in Melbourne.

Throughout this year, I have silently questioned my blog and its future. I have given it substantial less time and attention than ever before. But you know what I have found also? I use my blog to check back on things we did, images of the kids and comments. It's indulgent, but personal blogging is a very self indulging hobby.

I like writing our stories and I really like it when I stumble across an old post I wrote and see my Dad has left a comment on it.



One day, Immy and Miss 8 will know that Poppy read every single story about them that I wrote. But it won't be enough.

And here we all are.

Living anyway.

Happy, most of the time.

I work hard to keep myself from being smothered by that heavy, dark blanket that sometimes floats above my head threatening to fall from the sky and pin me down. I see it much less than I did last year.

Cheers Dad. I hope the wine is good where you are, the music is upbeat, the sun is shining and the company is engaging. Give me a call when you can (text if you have to).



12 comments:

  1. Such a beautiful post, Claire. Thanks for sharing (and for the little lump you have left in my throat). Your Dad sounds ace. xxx

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  2. So hard Claire, sending lots of virtual hugs and thinking of you xxx

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  3. I really miss your dad too. He sounds like a champion. He actually reminds me of my Dad a lot. And every time you write about him, I cry. For your loss. And because I can't ever imagine having to go through this. Even though I never met your dad, I think about your family every now and again, and send love, and wish I could eliminate the pain.

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    1. Oh thank you Jane for your constant kindness that comes through in your words. xx

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  4. Cheers indeed to your Dad - and to you...I also get comments from my Dad (quite often they are the only ones); you are correct in saying that the lovely thing about blogging is it can be a record of different stages of your life. That in itself is superb - imagine when your children are grown up being able to read all that you felt important enough to write down... what a gift. Keep going - the sadness won't ever really pass I suppose; however let the beautiful memories prevail.

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  5. And a big fat hug to you sweetheart x

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  6. It's a bit shit, well a lot shit. I am sorry for the big heavy you feel. So sorry.
    As for the blog, I know what you mean, and I've come to the same conclusion. It's mine. It's self indulgent, and it's a record of all the things, good and bad. And yes, my dad made a comment once, and that's as good a reason as any to keep it going. I think of you often, and this week, you're in my thoughts a lot. Lots of love to you xxx

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  7. Oh Claire, big hugs to you. Thanks for reminder to call my dad for a big chat. x

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  8. This post is so beautiful. It quite made me tear up. Thinking of you xx

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  9. Hugs to you my friend, I lost my dad 15 years ago on the 16 October, I still think of him everyday. Your dad sounds super cool, two cool October dads, thinking of you xx

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  10. Much love to you - Time will never erase the memories of life with your Dad . I also think a blog is a good way to remember. Days turned to weeks, weeks to years. Hold on to the happy memories as much as you can and as often as you can , Create a ritual - a memory jar maybe.
    As time goes by, the tears may roll less often, but each 1 still feels the same love and loss.
    9yrs since my Dad passed away xox

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