For You, Daddy

Today my father died. Twenty two years ago.

During a telephone conversation earlier today, my mother asked me, through tears, if I remembered him; if I remembered her husband.

I cried.

Daddy, I remember every smell of "Old Spice", every cuddle, every shout, every reprimand, every instruction, every touch, every joke, every pin-striped suit, every stand-off, every poolside Cream Soda, every moody silence, every Daily Telegraph crossword, every "Special Surprise Snack" (a desperate attempt to get me to like interesting and more varied food).

I remember everything, because it was yesterday still.

I remember every time you let me stay up with my brother to watch Hammer House of Horror, much to the horror of my mother… I was far too young, but I will always love you for it.

I remember your crazy high kicks, with your trousers rolled up to your knees. I don't necessarily remember why…

I remember your love of marmite and lettuce sandwiches and the destruction you left for Mummy to clear up when you had one of your "midnight feasts".

I remember every knock-knock joke.

I remember your brother, Uncle Pat, who I loved so much. I still do. After you left, I remember visiting him and seeing your face in his face. I remember the really cool suede jacket he bought me and how special I felt. I remember how it was to feel your brother's arm on my shoulder and to know that I was not alone.

There are no more brothers left now, and it makes us all a little sad.

I visited your other daughter, my beautiful sister, last Wednesday. We celebrated your grand-daughter's 10th birthday. She and my little girl danced, twirling on the rug to "Heal the World" by Michael Jackson, just before bedtime. It was magical. They are SO beautiful, Daddy.

I cried then too, but you will be pleased to know that they were happy tears. I think of Facebook (such an addictive, annoying, important, crazy, life-saving thing) and how all of us cousins are now in touch and have our beautiful families to share with each other.

Life is moving on, constantly. It never stops.

Watching our little girls twirl in their pyjamas and feeling such a strong sense of family, I can now look forward to a time when our offspring will meet with each other and delight in the new family connections they find.

They are the new generation; knock-knock jokes, marmite sandwiches, high kicks, who knows? They will find their own way; we can only guide them as we were guided.

Daddy, I honour you for everything you were, and still are, to those who continue to love you.

Daddy, I hope I can make you proud.

I miss you.

With all my love…



6 thoughts on “For You, Daddy

  1. you have to stop all these posts. they make me cry. i lost my dad to a accident when i was young so this post make me really sad but happy . you certainly do capture people feelings, they are you own but they are others you really are special

  2. Thanks, Debbie.

    I didn't know about your dad. I'm sorry.

    I really don't mean to make you cry every time. Who am I kidding? My stuff is meant to be emotive, but I don't mean to cause distress or heartache. I will send you a big hug across the "ethers" each time I write…

    Your support with my writing really means a lot. I feel very "exposed" with it all, but I simply cannot write in any other way. I know in my heart it's now or never. As I said to Chris, it is helping me enormously.

    And as for all these tears (yours AND mine), I am wondering if I should contact Kleenex to get some kind of sponsorship deal?!

    Much love x

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