As I sit by my laptop, I realise it has been some time since I wrote a blog here. I do still write but recently I have been writing a regular column for our regional paper, the Yorkshire Post. In front of me is a photograph of my father taken at a studio when my father reluctantly agreed to go along with an appointment.   I made use of a £20 voucher but ended up spending a great deal more. The professional photographs are worth their weight in gold and when I see my father in this portrait his eyes look straight at me in the usual loving way. His smile is just for me how my heart smiles when I write this.

A few months following my father’s death I started to keep a journal to process my emotions which for those of you familiar with grief will know is like a roller coaster ride. From my personal journaling I started to write these blogs and here I am on the eve of my dad’s 9th death anniversary.  Nine years tomorrow my father died. My world fell apart and the ground beneath me opened. I went down engulfed by the thick smog of grief. To begin with there was no visibility and no hope. Now, I no longer feel sad that my father died. I feel very grateful to have him as my father which he still is notwithstanding his physical death.

I know my father is very proud of me and every time my column appears in print, I think of my dad. He would probably cut the columns out to carefully place in a folder marked with the date of publication.  His modus operandi was methodical and exact.  My father was an impressive and charismatic man, so it was a privilege to have had the chance to live with someone so amazing. I remain quite proud that I have his genes, and that sometimes others may only know me as his daughter. Only yesterday I called an aunty whose husband was a dear friend of my dad. When I called her, she did not recognise my name but as soon as I said whose daughter I was, she instantly made the connection.

He did so many things for me that I don’t know where to begin.  He was a single dad at a time when it was not the norm for a father to raise his children while running a business to feed us and provide a roof over our heads. I remember as a child he would take me to the circus on Woodhouse Moor and he would hold my hand to keep me safe.  Later, he would drive me to university and be the first to cheer me on in all my achievements.  I read a line in one of Dr. Wayne Dyer’s wonderful books about how the moon shines everyday for planet earth. Not once did the moon say to the earth I owe you. Now imagine what love like that is really like. Can that be described? Not really.

It may be nine years since he died but it feels he has not left me. If I act or speak with love, I do so because inside me are the goodness seeds planted by my father.  My world now is different, but my father still plays a prominent role. In all that I do and in all that I am, everything goes back to my father, the connection is so strong that not even death can divide us.  This morning as I was walking my dog and a thought came. Heart is where heaven is, and heaven is where the heart is.  There is a gap between our perceived reality and the reality, only until we fall, we don’t get the chance to appreciate this.

I do miss the little things which were not little after all.  I miss sharing any good news with my dad as he was the first person I wanted to share my news with. I miss resting my head on his shoulder when I feel out of source.  I miss the touch of his soft and big comforting hand which made me feel at home, and loved.  Yet all these moments are etched in my heart which I will carry forever.

I read a quote by Gibran in The Awakened Soul which touches on this quite well.  Sadness is but a wall between two gardens.  It has taken nine years for me to realise that my father is not dead he is very much alive and in me.  I am no longer sad nor am I yearning for his presence because he has never gone away.  Death is part of living so embrace it with gratitude.    I hope my journey and story gives a glimmer of hope to others who might be at the start of their torrid journey, you know you will get there just hold tight and keep moving.

Two beautiful trees will be planted tomorrow in our garden to mark the anniversary, and I will thank God for giving me the best father.

Thank you Dad for everything and I mean everything.

©DMP

29th December 2022