I´m writing this, wishing more than anything you stood over my shoulder reading it. If only there were some method for me to talk to you, just one last time. I wouldn´t demand answers to the questions that pull so heavily on my heart. I’d just tell you everything that´s happened in the past year so as to hear your thoughts. I’d hope you’d tell me how lazy the lads at work had been today and then give me some pointers for the future so that I wouldn’t do the same. Then you´d ask me if I had seen any of the soaps recently and what Phil Mitchell was up to in Eastenders. You´d catch me up on all the storylines.
We would share a smoke and a drink you’d talk about Mum. I´d let you because I´d want so much to understand because, I’d want you to have somebody to talk to. The things you’d say would probably cut me so deeply, confuse me and open the flood gates to an endless ocean of questions and doubts about our families past. How things got so thoroughly fucked up. Sometimes I’d struggle to listen or I’d be so busy trying to give rationale to some of things you were saying that I’d not be able to converse with you for a few moments. I may try my hardest to block it all again and falling weak to custom, take the 20 pounds from your hand and take myself straight to the pub. Ironic eh? I should be terrified of alcohol but even, sit on the anniversary of your death and many other occasions, sipping my second and third glass of wine in the confused chaos of my own thoughts.
If we had had more time together I wish I could have seen the truth of my selfish ways and spent more time with you. Helping you. What hurts me the most Dad was your lonliness, your internal sadness that ran so deep beneath your yellowed skin. Seeing you in that small office smoking and drinking and your eyes so drooped and struggling to stay open, your red face and the weight gain. So pained about how slowly everything had fallen in on itself and broken so definitely.
I´d try to help you move on from Mum, I’d include you in my life. I’d force you to convert all the bitterness and pain you poured into lamenting over Mum into some kind of awareness into me and your other children. I’d make you realise how happy we could make you. I’d make you so proud, I´d do everything I could to make you feel happiness. We’d get you a house in the country, not too far away and I’d come and stay with you loads. We could decorate it and make it just as wonderful as our family home. I wouldn´t be scared to help you Dad, to face your illness and help you too. I would do it, for you.
If I could just put my arms around you one last time. If I could just apologise for numerous thoughtless things I’d said to you out of hurt. The things I did that made your life harder, that gave you double, triple the amount of stress than what you needed.
If I could even just say goodbye to you properly. I’d thank you for everything you provided for us. You worked so hard and had so much stress from work and because of the mortgage and you wanted so much to give us a good education, home and life-style. I see that now. I hate now and I wish it was then and I hadn’t been so self absorbed that I could have realised it then. I’m so sorry.
I hope you live on in me Dad that I do things to make you proud. I catch myself making jokes like you did and even thinking things that I know would make you chuckle. I will love you eternally Dad, I´ll never cease thinking about you and I don’t know if I will ever be able to stop apologising for not helping you fight the booze more. I hope everytime I think about you you feel a big bear hug.
All my love and hugs forever
Your Bear-tub x x x x