I can’t believe it’s five years today since my Daddy died. The time seems both too long and too short. I feel like too much time has passed and his presence is fading from this world, which feels horribly unfair.
I also feel it’s too little time and I still feel raw in my loss. It’s all too soon, too recent and I will get over it better and deal with my grief but what do you expect after a couple of months? Five years?
I miss him every day. I think about him every day. I have so much I want to tell him and show him, so many interesting geeky facts and ridiculous gadgets and silly stories and terrible jokes. There’s no-one else in my life I can share all that with, now.
If I could, I’d make a documentary about his extraordinary life. When I think of all he’d done by the time he was forty, it makes me wish I had his drive and ability. I certainly have some of his anger at injustice and I’m very glad of that. His values were deeply, passionately socialist, unlike most of his peers who were your classic Tory doctors. How anyone can work in the NHS and yet also support the party most seeking to destroy it was a puzzle for us both.
I don’t know what to do tonight. I feel unsettled. I used to love watching films with him, whether at home or in the cinema. I remember watching loads of Spaghetti Westerns with him when I was a little kid, he definitely helped foster that lifetime love.
I want to hug him and squeeze him till he grumbles for me to let go. And then not let go.