04.08.2018


It’s been a busy few months, with the Butterfly preparing for and competing in her first dance competition, the birthday fortnight and school holidays all kind of rolled up together. The busy ness has filled in the thinking gaps, those slow moments when my mind turns to missing you. With the start of the new school term the hustle has left the bustle behind and things have slowed down for now, so I find myself thinking about you a little more.

Last week we received notification that we had been granted citizenship and we would be required to attend a ceremony to receive our certificates next week. On the scale of things it’s not that big of a deal, the only thing that changes is our ability to apply for passports. I have been pleasantly surprise by the enthusiastic response we have received from our friends here, I didn’t think it would hold any significance for them, I was wrong. I know the process would have interested you and I have missed chatting to you about it and all the nit-picky little things that go into the application process.

Today, our neighbours youngest had a birthday party and we were all invited. I was searching in my jewellery box for earrings when I came upon a lapel pin that you gave me. I know you brought it home from a business trip overseas, I think it was to the USA, and I know it was the same year I left home, nearly thirty years ago now. My tiny almost unnoticeable Guardian Angel lapel pin. That little reminder that even though I was out on my own, making my own way in the world, you were always there if I needed you to be. Watching over me! I wore it every day, eventually I pinned it to a jacket that formed part of my work uniform and that was where it stayed until I resigned. For the past ten or so years it has been packed away safely and securely in my jewellery box unused but not totally forgotten.

This past week has been a tough one, when those waves of sadness are in a high tide and creep far up onto the shores of life. When the tears are never far from falling and there is an empty ache in the pit of my stomach. I know it’s there, I know why it’s there and I know the only thing I can do is work through it and learn to live with it. Being busy and filling up the silences helps but it doesn’t stop the hurting. Then I found my Guardian Angel and though I cried when I found it that empty place filled up and the sadness abated.

It reminded me that you are still there if I need you, that you are always watching over me and that my memories of you keep you close. So I wiped away the tears and pinned it to my shirt as we headed out to help our little neighbour celebrate. No one noticed my tiny lapel pin, no one commented on it, but I knew it was there. It’s my physical reminder that I will be okay even when missing you gets hard to do.

On Tuesday evening I shall pin it to my dress and again no one will notice my tiny lapel pin. But, I will know it’s there and I will know that you are standing right beside me, quietly watching as we take that final step to citizenship.

Love you Old Man, forever and for always.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

18.05.2018

Your ashes were interned in the wall of remembrance today. Mum made me cry when she described the box that held your mortal remains, she said you would have approved. I sat down to email you one night, I needed advise, but that doesn’t work anymore. For the first time in my life I had to navigate on my own, my guide had taken a different path. I was utterly lost. In that moment I realised just how someone “adrift” at sea must feel, completely directionless. For the first time in my life when I was faced with an issue that seemed unsolvable I didn’t have you to bounce things off. I couldn’t run things by you and organise my own thoughts. That positive place I went to, that made me feel better about myself, was closed. It sucks Dad! It really hurts not having you to speak to. It hurts knowing I will never hear your voice again or see you smile or wrap my arms around the man who gave the best hugs. It really sucks, I don’t like the way missing you hurts and I am so tired of crying. ...
Read more

04.04.2021

  Hey Dad Three years today. This anniversary has been the hardest. Why is that? Why does the shock of death hurt less than an anniversary? I don’t miss you any more today than I did yesterday, there is the same sense of loss today as 3 years ago. Yet, as today approached my thoughts turned to you more often and I have felt so sad. I notice your picture and seem to hear songs that remind me of you more than usual. I see your face reflected in windows as I walk through town. Someone whistled to their children in the park the other day, I heard your whistle echo back to me. I hear Sarah-Marie chatting endlessly to her father as he sits and relaxes after work. I know his mind wonders off while she talks, as I am sure yours would do when I did the same to you. I watch as Hollie reaches out to take her father’s hand and as her hand disappears into his I remember how my hand would disappear into yours, I remember that feeling. Feeling safe, protected, loved. Every time Sarah play...
Read more

05.04.2018

Last night as the final rays of daylight left World’s End and settled brightly over the heart of the world, you breathed your last and slipped into eternity. Four children felt a pillar of their lives crumple and a wife feels hollow. I wish I could wail and scream at the sky, purge these surging, consuming emotions that are beating against my heart with just one blood curdling soul wrenching scream and be done with it all. I want to be angry and sad and miserable, but I can’t be it doesn’t work like that, nothing is ever quite so simple. Through this haze of tears and with this heavy heart I feel only gratitude. I do not believe you deserved the suffering you endured, yet I am so grateful that to the end you were alert and dignified. I wish we all had more time, just one more phone call or SKYPE. But I am so grateful that the end came quickly.   I am grateful for the bond we share, one that neither distance nor death could sever. My children won’t get the chance to learn fr...
Read more