Travelling . . .

Well today was fun. I drove the kids to Cadbury World. It made me think of you because the day that you left us we were on our way there when I got the phonecall. In six weeks it was the first time that I had not been at the hospital by your side, with Mum, hanging on every beep of machinery and improvement in blood gas numbers. I was told it would be good to give the kids a day off, get them away from the hospital. It was the last thing I felt like doing. You had had your eyes open that morning. They were so cloudy but I know you were in there. When I said where we were off to you raised your eyebrows as if to say 'typical!'. I am so glas you were there that morning. They had been unable to rouse you for the previous two days so it seemed like progress. I said goodbye, I remember kissing your head, trying to get to it amid the wires and machinery, and I stroked your hair. Two hours later you had gone. The drive back was hell. I look back now and am so sorry that I had nothing to give to the kids. I offered them no comfort or strength - I was totally engulfed in my own shock and pain.

Today was about them. I didn't really feel like going (again) but we had fun. We ate chocolate and played music all the journey ... loudly! They both love music and that is something I always have and always will attribute to you. Your voice and you passion for music was passed on to us and in turn I have passed it on. And I have to say I think you would even approve of their taste in music (mostly!).

I would love to hear you sing, my lovely Dad. I stand in church and can still hear an echo of your voice.

Lov you xx

Maybe it is time to say goodbye...

I was reading on someone else's blog and an interesting thought struck me . . . I don't think that I have actually said goodbye to you. I am continuing life as if you have simply popped out and could be back any time soon. I have certainly not let you go, and if I am honest I really don't want to, as if, in letting you go I would be failing you, loving you less. And yet, I can see that in letting you go I will be able to love you so much more. I would be able to remember you and talk about you and be grateful for all you were and the love we shared. Instead i am just so bitterly disappointed that you are not here and yet you should be.

I have also learnt that perhaps I need to make myself remember you, remember the good things. And that must surely be better that trying to block everything out because it just hurts to damn much. A living real memory and joy has to be better than blanking your photos and refusing to go there in my mind in case I can't bare it.

You know Dad, I am a teacher now. You knew I got my degree but you never knew I actually made it to my dream. I love it. I don't love the hours but I love my days, my class. I wish oh wish you could have shared in it because I have so missed you being proud of me.

I love you to the moon . . . and I am grateful to summer holidays where I have time to think.

x