Father’s Day – when your Dad is no longer here <3

Today is the eleventh Father’s Day without my Dad and on Thursday it will be the eleventh anniversary since he passed. I almost lock myself into a room the week leading up to Father’s Day. Every t.v ad, social media, shop signs, the radio. It’s everywhere.

Is it Father’s Day for those of us without Dad’s? Guess what? – for all of us out there who don’t have our father’s anymore – its still Father’s Day for our dads too.

Dad. Thank you for loving me unconditionally. Thank you for being my hero and warrior when I was little. Thank you for giving me your height and confidence, but not so much for the skin and feet.

Thank you for teaching me how to ride a bike on the cricket pitch when I was 5, and how to read a clock/watch when I was 6. Thank you for teaching me the art of telling stories and having a laugh.

Thank you for showing me how important family is, it took us a while but my sister and I are now the very best of friends.

Dad, thank you for instilling in me pride for being Australian, for being tall and for looking different to others. I miss you saying “pacifically” instead of specifically, I miss how cranky you would get when you would bust us cheating at monopoly.

My brother has so many of your traits. As does my sister. But I got your looks. I have your tenacity, Irish-Australian temper, stubbornness and confidence but I also share your fears and concerns for the world. How DO we keep our loved ones safe? WHY is the world such a mess? I too am dwarfed by the same things you were.

I have travelled the world, knowing you didn’t get a chance to. I still go for your footy team, I was sad when they stopped making spearmint leave lollies and I laugh whenever I see the classifieds ads. Every now and then I watch a Clint Eastwood movie and eat a cheese and jam sandwich – just for you.

Dad, I love you and miss you. We all do. You were gone too soon. We are doing our best to make you proud of us. I hope you’re happy and although not in person, in your own way watching over us.

Love, your eldest daughter.

Courtney

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Grief: Even when I know what’s coming, I’m never prepared for how it feels.

Grief. It’s a bastard of an emotion. I’m currently on my commute to work (read: public transport of all methods), and I’ve spent the entire journey crying. 

Those hot, heavy, sorrow filled tears. I am sorry if you know the tears I am talking about. They rarely come with anything less than destructive and devastating memories. 

Thank goodness for dark sunglasses and everyone else absorbed with their phones, otherwise this would be spectacle. 

Ten years ago, everyone around me would have noticed. Ten years ago people read books on the bus and texted. We weren’t completely absorbed by our phones. Today I am thankful for the destractiob. I too can be lost in my phone. Ten years ago (almost…) we lost our Father. Our families Husband, Father to three and friend to all died. 

Our father had been ill for some time, but this is not what took him. Which was so cruel as he had worked so hard to fight his sickness for so long. To then die after a routine procedure in hospital – 1200km away from his family. I can’t imagine. 

Yes. It has almost been ten years. So why am I sitting on a bus today crying? Why have I spent the last three days crying? 

I have this every year as it approached the date. Every year. However today and this week, I am less in control than I normally am. 

My heart hurts. My soul is aching. For ten years I have fought to keep my head above water, me and mine. My small family. Just the four of us. Fighting to keep going, fighting to stay above the water. Fighting the world. Fighting each other. Hurting. 

It’s a cruel twist of fate that the anniversary of dad’s passing is always the same week as Father’s Day, here in Australia. How f*cking cruel is that? The first anniversary was ON Father’s Day. 

All else aside – I seem to have lost my strength. I’ve hit this ten year mark and I’m out of steam. I’m so desperately sad. I miss him. He wasn’t at my wedding. He hasn’t met his grandchildren. So many life events. I am crying not for me but for him. You aren’t meant to die at 50. I know plenty of people do – and I guess I have always used this as a coping mechanism. 

He had a good life. 

People die much younger. 

We loved him and he knew that. 

I had a great childhood. 

Etc. 

It’s not helping this week. My sadness is palpable. Breathing hurts. When my alarm went off this morning I started crying again. When I showered last night the water was so hot that all I could think was “did they use warm water when they washed dads body? Did they wash it?”. That’s morose I know. Here I am though. 

So what do I do? How do you deal with long-term grief? Why has it hit me now? Is it the ten – year mark? Does life-healing work? Where do I go? Who can actually help with this?

Please help me. If you know how I should try to deal with these feelings (psychologist?, kineseologist?, yoga?). I don’t know. 

Sending love & thanks. M

Lucy

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