It is one year ago since my lovely Dad died.

At that point I lost my father, my advisor and my friend.

Dad did not think I spoke rubbish (the word my husband used was harsher but they do say you should not swear on blogs)  or if he did he was always ready to listen.

He did not recoil and accuse me of being boring,  He did not look for a better daughter.  When I was scared, he understood.

He would have worked himself into the ground to support me right until the end.

He believed in me and he was patient with me.

So I sit here alone and I cry.

Tomorrow, because I am the only one who will do it, I will do the school run. 

I will watch all the other mums chatting merrily and not know how to join in.

I will come home and confront the housework and feel that it is never-ending.

And despite it being made clear to me tonight how very unsupportive I am as a wife, I will see if I can find any job leads for my husband because, frankly, it is a dirty job but somebody has got to do it.  Or maybe, shock horror, I will look for work for myself.  Knowing me, I will do both because one thing I always am is proactive and perhaps I need to start thinking about what I want rather than looking out for others.

Two years ago, I set up the Groovy Mums initiative because I felt hopeless and knew only I could change that and preferably with the back-up of supportive mums who might feel a little the same way.

This weekend, I got a MAD Blog Award for “Outstanding Contribution”.  I stood there in my charity shop clobber looking about four times the size of the other women on the platform.  I reflected on how they have changed the world in truly inspirational ways.  I am different from them because the people who earned me the outstanding contribution are the groovy mums who got on their bikes and got out of bad relationships, found new jobs. and pursued their dreams.   My award is theirs really.

Of course, when the tears stop, I will dig deep and carry on.  There are glimmers out there, enough to convince me my future may be bright and let’s face it I have 3 lovely children to support.  And they, like Dad, love me warts and all.

And when I wobble or I am judged harshly because I am not “fun”, I will think of my Dad and how he would tell me to “Put your shoulders back, Cath.  You are as good as any of them.”

And despite being sorely tempted to give up blogging altogether, I won’t do that because it is my mum’s legacy and sometimes the only friend I have.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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