I wrote this blog originally for my first blog but I never posted it, which is why the text is a bit funny and it seems a bit disjointed. I haven’t edited any of it – other than the year at the bottom, I don’t see any point, this was written just after the little one was born when I was very emotional and hormonal so sorry about that. I found this hiding in the drafts section and thought I should now post it. It’s time, especially as the little one is finding out about his grandad and even shocked my mum the other day by shouting my dad in for his tea. It was a bit odd!
As you may have guessed this blog is about the man that helped drag me up for 21 years, my father. Dad, Daddy, Father, Pop (I honestly never called him that), Papa whatever you call your Dad they are hopefully pretty special. I love my Dad more than anyone else in my life, he was the one person I could ring up and say ‘hey dad, I’ve had a shit day’ and he’d be ready in the pub with my tea and a drink in his corner of the pub (proper old man).
There are far too many good memories of my dad to put in one blog I’d have to do a whole new series just for it so I’ll sprinkle them n every now and again just to mix it up.
Firstly I just want to say my Dad was in no way a saint. He isn’t on a pedestal and I don’t look back on the first 21 years of my life with rose tinted glasses thinking of all the good things. Yeah my dad was special and we had a laugh and I love him completely but he could be a right shit when he wanted to be and sometimes I thought I hated him as teenage girls are wont to do. My friends loved him (he was the cool dad) and when he helped our church run a youth group, with my mum and other parents, then we knew we were in for a good night!
My earliest memory of my Dad was when I was about 2/3, I was going to my Maternal Grandparents for a holiday and as I was leaving the house I turned to my dad and said ‘don’t worry daddy I won’t be a bugger.’ or words to that effect. It changes each time my mum tells the story! I’m sure my bum got smacked and I got bundled into the car pretty quickly! Haha I haven’t changed at all I’m still a bugger some 20 odd years later and I’m sure he’d be proud of me for that!
It’s strange I have so many memories of my dad – when I dry my hair and I wave the dryer at my head I can always hear him say “stop waving the dryer it’ll take longer” random huh?
I can remember nights at youth group – barbecues in the summer outside our Church hall using disposable barbecues, we would always end up with everything being burnt on the outside and it still frozen in the middle!
He used to knock on my door in the morning and shout “morning flower!” And Saturday mornings were made for his bacon butties.
The worst moment of my entire life was hearing my dad had passed away. He’d seen my sister get married, was ill that day and we thought he’d get better eventually. My parents lived in France then and when they got back, he was worse so my mum rushed him to hospital. Cue many phone calls between sisters and mum and my grandma before my elder sister flew out to be with my mum to help her out. A week or so later we all flew out to be with my mum. It was the worst 2 weeks of my life. My sisters went to see my dad in hospital but I refused to go. It sounds harsh but I didn’t want to see him like that. The man that I thought would live forever stuck in a hospital bed with wires coming from his body, shouting at everyone and being someone I didn’t know. No, I wanted to remember him just as I knew him. The week dragged as we were all waiting for something to happen. We got home on the Sunday I think and on the Monday came the phone call we’d been dreading. My mum rang my mobile just as I’d got into work, she told me very calmly my dad had died earlier and she needed me to let my sister (who I used to work with) know. I told her I loved her and hung up, having to go to my sisters desk when she knew what was coming as awful. I told her as calmly as I could and we both burst into tears, luckily my brother in law works there too and he came over straight away to dish out hugs and kisses. Then slowly work colleagues came in and all gave us hugs. I went into our boardroom to ring my fiancé and broke down in tears. I couldn’t get hold of him for ages as he was on his way to work and I was panicking about it so much. I eventually got through to him and told him, we were both in tears for ages.
I didn’t go home from work, I wanted to stay busy and there’s no better place for staying busy than at work. I had to tell my friends about his death, I got so many texts, emails phone calls that day it was crazy. I don’t really remember much about anything until his funeral. I didn’t fly back out to France, I couldn’t do it. I needed to be the at home contact and I didn’t want to say goodbye. My sisters flew out again and they held his funeral in France. We had a memorial a couple of weeks later in the UK and it was packed with my dad’s friends and all our family, that was my goodbye and he had a great send off.
It’s hard 9 years on to talk or write about this, as I miss him every single day. I still want to tell him everything to do with my life, I want his hugs when I’m down, his bad jokes when I need cheering up and I hope he’d be proud of me, my mum, my sisters and my nieces and nephews and now my beautiful son. I am gutted he never got the chance to meet him but I know he’s somewhere watching over us with a pint in his hand saying ‘We’ll be home in a bit petal, we’re just having one more.’
Have one for us Dad, love and miss you and my little one will know just as much about you as I did.