I thought I would write this tomorrow but I am hurting tonight.
Dad died 2 years ago tomorrow as the seasons changed.
I went upstairs to my bedroom earlier. Nobody came up to see me or not until New Tricks was finished because that is more important.
I am hurting because I know Dad would have been there no matter how tired he was, how much pain he was in himself, whatever programme was on the telly or how dazzling his career was. I guess I was spoiled. Nobody will love me like that again.
My children tell me how vital he was to this family. They remember him giving them custard creams after school. My eldest son remembers being bullied and none of my efforts working. Granddad advised to thump the bully and (although I banged on about pacifism) it was the one thing that worked. They remember how my Dad had a good relationship with pets being particularly fond of our ginger tom Maximus.
My daughter tells me my Dad always meant happy family and smiling faces.
I have done a lot of things that Dad would have loved to hear about in the last 2 years – awards, trips abroad and even making money. I blogged out his memoirs and people read them. Dad always believed I under-sold myself. He wanted me to believe that people did really like me (something I always struggled with).
On the home education front, Dad would have said “It’s a new idea to me but if you think you can do it, I know you can and that you will have thought it all through.” He would have asked me if I needed any money or any help at all. He would have thrown himself into a new adventure and I would have known I was not alone with it.
And with Dad’s impeccable sense of timing it is midnight and a new day and he is still dad and still dead.
Rest in peace Dad until we meet again. I miss you.