I had started wiritng a post tonight about my relationship with my dad and the last time I saw him before he died. I had actually written about four paragraphs when I realised something. I think I am not quite ready to pour out something that means so much to me. I enjoy writing here about my deepest thoughts and feelings. I like the fact that anyone could read them. I am using this blog partly as therapy.
What I realised tonight is that even though my dad died in 1996 I am still not quite ready to talk about it. The wounds I have surrounding this event are still hugely raw, open and exposed. I have been spending some time lately with his sisters, this is for a couple of reasons:
1) they are spectacularly interesting women.
2) They each have fascinating stories to tell.
3) They all have their own special connection to my dad and I want to be in their company to glean any little bit of information they can give me about him.
4) The most important reason though is that I can see a little of him in each of them – his warmth, his wisdom, the same characterisitics and mannerisms. The family likeness is remarkable and I feel as if I am learning about him every time I speak to them.
It has become a routine that after I visit them I become a little withdrawn because I am processing the information they have given me but I am also trying to commit to memory all the little bits of him that seem to fade with each passing day. The feelings of loss have not got any better but I manage to push them to the back of my mind better. My dad made me feel like I could achieve anything. When low self-esteem drags me down it is the words of my dad that pick me up again. I have an internal fear of getting hurt, letting people get too close or just letting myself relax but when I think about my dad it makes me feel strong, intelligent and worthwhile.
The blog I had intended writng has not materialised but I know one day I will get it down on paper. I will let go of the regrets and guilt that I did not make those last minutes, seconds with him count more – by saying something profound and meaningful. I think and hope that he knew how much he meant to me.
Miss you dad.x