Category: Life

So much I could say here;  four years since he arrived, so many milestones passed in this last year alone. I could write about how well he’s doing, how much I love him (more than I ever thought possible), and how much of a cheeky chops he is turning out to be (which shocks no-one less than his parents, trust me!).

I write to him every month (he can read the letters later) and it strikes me that without really realising it, we seem to be raising a smart, funny, kind boy. And regardless of his life path, as long as he isn’t a dick, I will be there to support him, cheer him on, stand beside him, and catch him if needed.

I still count my blessings that I am his Dad, still believe that he is the best thing to happen to me (after Becca of course, she was fairly fundamental to all of this!) and that I’m a better person for it. Better in that perma-tired way other parents understand, but I don’t mind that. It’s worth it for all the little moments when he smiles at me, or whispers “I love you too Daddy” when I put him to bed. I could do without the knee drops off the sofa onto my back mind you…

Four years already, gone in the blink of an eye. Hey, whaddya know, those cliches are true.

It would’ve been my Dad’s birthday yesterday, he would’ve been 79.

I didn’t post about it yesterday, more by happenstance than planning, but I did think about him and one thing struck me. I think more about my Dad on any given day than I do about my Mum or my sister.

Now, I’m not attributing scores nor logging time spent or any other quantifiable means for this but it only really struck me last night. I was lying in bed reading a book but couldn’t really focus on it as the scene I was reading happened to be a daughter reunited with her father after a few months apart. My Dad passed 5 years ago but I realised that if I had one choice to make, it would be to bring him back for a day (a la Ian and Barley, and yes my social constructs are largely focussed around my son’s Pixar movie watching preferences).

Being the over thinker I can be (I know, dear reader, I can tell you are shocked!) I immediately started questioning what that meant for how I think about my Mum and my sister, how I’ve been processing their grief. It’s not that I loved them less although the shape of that love is very different.

Now I realise this seems very obvious but perhaps it’s because Dad never met Jack, never saw me as a father and, well, I just wish the two of them had been able to meet. If Jack thinks his Daddy is a silly billy then I think meeting his Grandfather may have blown his mind!

I have no illusion that if Dad were here he would’ve suddenly started offering me advice and wisdom, that wasn’t his way, but I at least think he would’ve been happy to see all the love and care he gave me is being passed on twofold (if not three).

Passing anniversaries are strange things. Reflecting on all the missed experiences with those who have departed is natural and, for me at least, often brings up additional thoughts on everyone else who has left us far too soon.

So it’s not that my Mum and especially my sister don’t loom large in my mind everyday, but the recency of their passing makes it different. My grief for them is still sharp and jaggy, and can be difficult to hold at times. Thoughts of them puncture me rather than slide into my mind with a softness.

I got thinking about how we would’ve visited Mum & Dad yesterday with cake, a selection of sweet treats and a book voucher for Dad, a day to celebrate his birthday whilst Jack ran around in his usual manner, and I just know I’d’ve been watching Dad watching my son. Sensing the pride he would’ve had in me even if he would’ve struggled to express it.

Christmas is the next big anniversary day, the second without Mum, the first without Jennie, and no doubt similar feelings will catch up with me at some point. But I know the passing of time will soften these things, will mould them into something else, something more celebratory and kind, something to hold on to rather than fear.

I miss my Dad.

I am not currently employed. I will be again soon, and I’m excited to start a fresh at a new place but, for now, I am a man of leisure.

It does not suite me. I feel somewhat conflicted most days of how to spend my time and I entirely blame my parents for this.

My Dad was a do-er, a project guy, always something to do be they household chores, or home and garden improvements, there was always something to do. Increasingly, as their home settled into the shape they wanted it, my Dad was busy on the computer writing database programs for the school he worked in (he was a guidance teacher and wanted a better way to track things than on paper), or rehearsing for a choir or Burns performance, as well as all the duties of being a kind and caring Father. 

My Mum was a do-er as well, but for a large part of my childhood, my memories of her are static; knitting (paid work for a local designer), or sewing. Her health fluctuated for many years as they tried to have a second child, so my formative memories of her are what gave me my love of old movies, of Formula One, of reading and sunbathing. My Mum did a lot more than that of course, but skimming the surface of my memories and my Dad never sat still, my Mum never moved.

Neither of those statements are true, of course, but when I look at my own actions and inactions over the past couple of weeks those patterns seem to emerge. I feel that I should be busy as I’m not working, so I’ll wash and hang clothes, I’ll clean, I’ll do some home or garden improvement projects. Or I’ll sit and watch a movie, or fire up my PlayStation, or I’ll just write.

I am even managing to carve some time for me, moving more when I can (I am becoming a wild swimmer!) and let’s be honest I am indulging myself whenever I sit and watch a movie. I do so love getting engrossed in a good movie. 

My son is at nursery three days a week, Becca works two days a week so I have those two days entirely free (I could take the third day as well but it’s nice to have time with my wife that isn’t being interrupted by our son (who I love dearly!) asking us to watch the start of Lightning McQueen’s race for the 391st time!!!).

It’s odd though, not having work as a focus. It’s not a holiday per se, but in theory there is no pressure on me to do much of anything. Becca has said as much too, and yet… and yet.

If anything my main focus has been to not put pressure on myself to Get Things Done. I am chipping away at tidying up the garage so we can use it as a home gym. I’ve done some work in the garden. I’ve done a few things around the house. I’ve sat and read. I’ve swam, I’ve walked, I’ve cycled. For there will always be something that needs done, another task to add to the list. 

However I do want to get the gym finished before I start work in a couple of weeks, and maybe get the kitchen cupboards painted at last (must order the new handles!), and, and, and, so many other things I could do but if I don’t get to them, that’s ok. I finally feel able to find a balance within my own inherited traits so, while it can still be a challenge to be kind to myself, I am finding that I am able to pause now and then to remind myself that it’s ok to not be busy, just as it’s ok to BE busy – something which brings it’s own rewards.

Now, if someone could remind me of all of this in a couple of weeks time when I’m starting the new job and stressing that ALL OF A SUDDEN I have no free time to do anything, that’d be great.