I miss my dad.
Through all the turmoil; all the moments of anger, hurt, uncomfortableness. Even through all his own pain, discomfort, the disruption of Parkinson’s disease degrading his human form and bodily organs failing.
I didn’t feel him at the end of this year.
The anniversary of his death on Christmas Eve, then a week later remembering his birthday on New Year’s Eve. A busy time of the year when it is easy to not notice many things. So I paused, left space for his memory, thinking about the present more than the past. I remembered him with a toast of his favourite drink – Cooper’s Stout “Happy Birthday Dad”. For a change, there were no tears, no heartache, no grief.
He wasn’t close to me this year. He was somewhere else, being himself, knowing I was okay at this time.
And now, a week later, with clear thoughts, I remember and miss the spirit that sparkled in a way like no other. The love that he gave for so many people, selflessly. He cared in his own way, and I thank him for expressing that as best he could.
So there are no more visits, no more chats. No more awkwardness and no more love. All I have are the memories – the feelings and moments, emotions imprinted on my heart.