Today, I am in pain.
I would so love to hear my Father's voice. I wish I could call him and hear him as he was before he was ill. He was so lovely to talk to. Always encouraging, calm, strong, cheerful and positive. Always caring and asking me if I was having a good time, if I had anything good planned for my evening and weekend. Always ready to dispense medical advice if I had a cold, or felt down. Always ready to listen if I'd had a fight with the Man.
Over the last year or two of his life, these conversations gradually tapered away. I was so reluctant to share anything that might worry him. I was also reluctant to share anything that betrayed the fact that sometimes I was actually happy and having a good time. I felt guilty, and restricted my communications to reports on how busy I was at work, how much I was working, how much I was reading, how much I was writing. I felt like if I was going to be away from him, there had to be a good reason. Living a calm and normal life didn't feel good enough. So I was always 'busy' or 'tired' or 'boring'. Many times I thought my way into such a place even if my life was going well. When he was in hospital and I knew he would not wake up, I was told to 'tell him everything I needed to'. Characteristically, I could not speak. Except to say I love you, Thank you, I love you, Thank you, over and over again. Aloud, in my head, in whispers, through sobs, through smiles.
Like I said before, perhaps that is the only thing that needed to be said. But today, I miss sharing the smallness of my life. I have period cramps. I am going to Birmingham on Tuesday. I am wondering when my hair is going to grow long enough to have a chignon. Are there any vitamins I should take to make my hair grow longer Papa?
I worship the God of Small Things often. That it is the wellspring of my life. And I feel like if I can't share that, something very fundamental has been lost.
I would so love to hear my Father's voice. I wish I could call him and hear him as he was before he was ill. He was so lovely to talk to. Always encouraging, calm, strong, cheerful and positive. Always caring and asking me if I was having a good time, if I had anything good planned for my evening and weekend. Always ready to dispense medical advice if I had a cold, or felt down. Always ready to listen if I'd had a fight with the Man.
Over the last year or two of his life, these conversations gradually tapered away. I was so reluctant to share anything that might worry him. I was also reluctant to share anything that betrayed the fact that sometimes I was actually happy and having a good time. I felt guilty, and restricted my communications to reports on how busy I was at work, how much I was working, how much I was reading, how much I was writing. I felt like if I was going to be away from him, there had to be a good reason. Living a calm and normal life didn't feel good enough. So I was always 'busy' or 'tired' or 'boring'. Many times I thought my way into such a place even if my life was going well. When he was in hospital and I knew he would not wake up, I was told to 'tell him everything I needed to'. Characteristically, I could not speak. Except to say I love you, Thank you, I love you, Thank you, over and over again. Aloud, in my head, in whispers, through sobs, through smiles.
Like I said before, perhaps that is the only thing that needed to be said. But today, I miss sharing the smallness of my life. I have period cramps. I am going to Birmingham on Tuesday. I am wondering when my hair is going to grow long enough to have a chignon. Are there any vitamins I should take to make my hair grow longer Papa?
I worship the God of Small Things often. That it is the wellspring of my life. And I feel like if I can't share that, something very fundamental has been lost.
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