Randoms by Rach

A Rambling Account of Grief

I'm meant to be writing a short story for my HSP class right now. I still have my entries for Around The World In 52 Weeks as well. So much to do. But, instead, all I can think of writing is this. You see, it's ten years ago today since Dad died. Ten years. How is that possible? When I think of all that I've lost since then: Mum, Jake, Auntie Gwenda, Uncle Rob, the house in Sherston, my dream of moving to the US. Yes, okay, some of those were my choice. And, yes, I have gained David; the love of my life. I know I wouldn't have met him without, first, losing Dad and Jake (my beautiful rescue dog who was my best friend). What's that phrase? Horses for courses? Something like that.

I'm thinking of happy times with Dad. How he taught me to dance as soon as I could walk. I loved dancing with him, even though all other children/teenagers I've ever met would never do that. But we worked well together. I loved to dance Rock'n'Roll with him. Such happy times. Forever lost. Gone. Emptiness left behind. People tell you to remember the good times, and yes, I agree. You should remember the good times. But it's those good times that break me because they're gone. Where is the comfort in remembering how loved and safe and happy you once felt? When the reality is life isn't like that any more. And it never will be again. I constantly feel like I'm teetering on the edge of oblivion, and it scares the hell out of me.

You know what I hate most? If Dad could see me today, he would be so disappointed. I've done nothing to be proud of. My life is a pathetic mess. (Apart from David. He is the one good thing.)

Okay, I edging into self pity now, and that's not why I started writing this. I wanted to write about Dad. My relationship with him was complicated. I adored him, but I didn't always like him. He was hyper-critical of every part of my life. He was cruel and made fun of me in front of others all the time. But, then we were also really close. He understood me better than anyone. About two weeks before he died, he told me I am perfect just as I am, and he wouldn't change a thing about me. It was, like, twenty plus years too late, but it meant a lot to me. We shared a lot of interests and our mannerisms were similar. I remember Mum saying to me, about six months after he died, that he would never really be dead, as long as I was alive. We shared a passion for music and dancing. The happy times we spent at parties and local dances make me ache deep inside when I think about them. I miss him so much. I miss that part of my life.

This whole week I've been looking back at what happened at this point ten years ago. Remembering every detail of that last week. I know that today, at 8:30 a.m., I had my last ever conversation with Dad. Before I left to go to work (something I'll regret as long as I live) I kissed him and said goodbye, then I told him that if he needed me, Mum could ring me and I'd come straight home. He had lost the ability to say exactly what was on his mind at some point over the least week, so he answered, "But you do need me, Rach." To this day, I'm convinced he meant to say that he needed me, in an attempt to stop me going to work. He knew he was at the end. But I went to work, anyway. That day, I told my boss I wanted to take compassionate leave, so I could be with Dad in his last days. But I was too late. When I got home that evening, he was unconscious. Apparently, the doctor had visited that lunch time and upped his morphine (something Mum didn't tell me until about a year later). Dad died at 10:35 p.m., and I never got to have another conversation with him. Mum and I were both by his side, holding him. I hope he knew that. I hope he wasn't frightened.

The horrible thing is I was angry at him for not holding on just a little longer. You see, it's my birthday two weeks today, and I really thought he would hold on for that. How selfish is that? I think I felt a little betrayed by that. It's crazy and completely unfair and, yes, selfish.

I can't stop the tears today. Today sucks. But I need to get a hold on myself. I have a lot to do. I just don't feel like it.