It’s weird, it kind of goes in phases. I’ll be ok, getting on with life knowing you’re not around and having the odd reference and memory of you but nothing major or to write home about, just knowing you’re always there in the background carrying my memories and grief around with me in a manageable way. Then suddenly I feel like you’re in my head, always popping up in my thoughts, songs reminding me of you, moments and memories and I feel like I’ve to talk a lot about you, like I need to get it out of my system. It doesn’t make me teary, or at least only very rarely. It’s just like you’re still around in the forefront of my mind and it’s nice.

I watched a Tedtalk where the speaker talked about moving on and how much she hated that phrase. I do too, it makes out like you should forget about people, things and experiences, when it reality you shouldn’t. You just need to learn to carry them with you. Especially when it’s the loss of someone. She talked about how she often ended up speaking about her late husband as if he were still in the present and that to her he was. It really resonated with me, because in my mind my dad is still with me in the present, obviously not in the physical sense but also more than just a memory. The lessons he taught me are with me, the knowledge of what he would say, do and think are still with me in the present and I like that it’s comforting.

It’s funny how I’ve been thinking of him lately. Poppa M seems to be a legend that’s living on strongly and in all honesty, I didn’t think he would. Sounds harsh that doesn’t it, but my relationship with my dad was very complex and had some very turbulent times. But we came through the other side of it, sort of. And this where I think I find things hard.

You see I have some really fond memories of my dad from when we were young. I grew up a daddy’s girl for long enough, I was about toddler P’s age and Poppa M was my hero. Nowadays I’m reliving a lot of his memories, like trips caravanning in Cornwall, visits to Blackpool illuminations and teaching her to ride a bike in the same park. I also recently spent a rainy half term day going through a box of old photos with the mothership, both of us comparing me and toddler P, cringing at the 80s hairstyles, 90s fashion and of course Poppa M with the fag hanging out of his mouth a cheap glass of red in hand! These were the good times. But things weren’t always great, in fact at one point they were downright shit and I was angry, really angry with my dad for he behaved and how he let us down.

This anger didn’t last forever though, it did last a long time but then I saw changes in my dad, I saw better qualities come out, don’t get me wrong he still was far from perfect but I just felt like things were different. But then it was my turn. I was in and place, a bad marriage and that’s what bothers me now. Not the relationship I was in, but the impact it had on me and my dad.

I’ve written before about how he knew and how he didn’t want me to marry into that relationship, but he still stuck by me and stood by me knowing there was little he could do. What hurts me though is that he’s not here to see me now. He’s not here to witness me as me again, he’s never got the chance to enjoy me again. We’ve not had the chance to both be in a better place together. I’ve not been able to let him see how far I’ve come and for us to build back that childhood relationship we had when I was a daddy’s girl. He’s not been able to see the real sassy, bolshy me come back with my humour, my passion and drive and lust for life that he saw get beaten out of me.

I’ve been thinking about him a lot lately because I’m missing the time that we didn’t get to have together.

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