Sometimes it really pisses me off, like tonight, just now. It really pisses me off that Poppa M’s not here anymore. He’s not here when I need him. And I’m not even talking big stuff, I’m talking the small stuff. The “dad” jobs.

Like buffing a scratch out of your car, changing the battery in your smoke alarm. Putting up the blind for you because you’re not sure how to drill into that wall (grey powered dust everywhere 🙈) or just generally doing the high up stuff you can’t reach.

To be honest I had a lot of this before he died, he buggered off back to live in India leaving his barely 5ft tall daughter fend for herself. Yeah I know I was 25 and perfectly independent and I am now. I’m learning to do these things for myself gradually and I do take some satisfaction in learning to landscape my own garden or sort the boiler when the pressure goes. I’m chopping wood logs for the fire myself and I’ve nothing against fending for myself. But it would be nice to still have him here to call upon. I had a habit of saving where possible these jobs for him on his annual visits over because it’s just nice to be a big looked after sometimes and have your dad sort stuff out.

I guess I’ll always be a bit angry with him for not looking after himself. I’ll always be a bit angry that he didn’t sort his issues out so he could live a bit longer for us, lead a healthier lifestyle to be there for his grandchildren. And I do wish he could just be here sometimes to mend a leaking tap. To take the pressure off a little and just help with some practical stuff.

I know I have friends to ask but it’s usually their hubby’s and partners that have to help out and to be honest I don’t like to ask. I don’t like to put others out. I don’t want to be that friend. Also, there’s a bit of me that needs to prove it to myself, that I can do it, that I can fix it (Bob the builder style) and give myself that confidence boost. But sometimes it’d be nice to have him at the end of the phone to just go to.

To be honest this is just a bit of a rant post, there’s nothing anyone can do. It is what it is, he’s not here anymore. His number is still in my phone, I don’t have the heart (or balls) to get rid of it. So rant over, I’ll pick up some t cut up in the morning and curse myself for bumping the car as I polish out the scratches and use my frustration as elbow grease.

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