To everyone out there for whom Father’s day is tricky, sending you love, and I relate. Here is some honesty in some words for you, that you may feel less alone.
Father’s day brings mixed emotions for me, grief (it never does leave you), pride, anger, gratitude...
Grief...because you were my world. I was a daddy’s girl and til you suddenly passed at 52 when I was 14, my life consisted of trying to make you proud. Grief is simply a measure of how much we loved.
Pride...because you were the most talented and charismatic of men. St Germans Priory Church is massive and it was standing room only at your funeral. Your legacy continues to protect and provide for me when I visit a new community in Cornwall.
Anger...that you died so early, that you didn’t take care of yourself, that you were emotionally unavailable and that I feared you often. Anger that the maternal woman in me now looks back and does not approve of some of your parenting techniques. Anger at my lack of safety net and the ways I had to raise and protect myself because not even mum could replace you sometimes.
Gratitude...for all of the above because I would not change any of it. Gratitude that I have learned how to raise and protect myself. Gratitude for the fact that you played Star Trek computer games with me and built me an ever-growing spaceport out of packaging behind the sofa. Gratitude that you decided I was a leader the moment I was born and made sure I knew it every day. Gratitude that you educated me about the world, explained the evening news to me and made sure my life was full of fun and music. Gratitude for the freedom I gained when you died. People don’t like to talk about that, but it’s a thing. Gratitude to Vanessa Johnston Williams, for raising me without you through those tricky teen years and beyond. Gratitude to Jo Tyler, Tracey Spring, Liz Evans and others for welcoming me into your families when I needed it. It takes a village. Gratitude for my talents, inherited or nurtured.
Gratitude that I’ve grown into a woman I like, and that dad, I feel you around me every day. Thank you for the message you sent me through Jo soon after your death:
Grief...because you were my world. I was a daddy’s girl and til you suddenly passed at 52 when I was 14, my life consisted of trying to make you proud. Grief is simply a measure of how much we loved.
Pride...because you were the most talented and charismatic of men. St Germans Priory Church is massive and it was standing room only at your funeral. Your legacy continues to protect and provide for me when I visit a new community in Cornwall.
Anger...that you died so early, that you didn’t take care of yourself, that you were emotionally unavailable and that I feared you often. Anger that the maternal woman in me now looks back and does not approve of some of your parenting techniques. Anger at my lack of safety net and the ways I had to raise and protect myself because not even mum could replace you sometimes.
Gratitude...for all of the above because I would not change any of it. Gratitude that I have learned how to raise and protect myself. Gratitude for the fact that you played Star Trek computer games with me and built me an ever-growing spaceport out of packaging behind the sofa. Gratitude that you decided I was a leader the moment I was born and made sure I knew it every day. Gratitude that you educated me about the world, explained the evening news to me and made sure my life was full of fun and music. Gratitude for the freedom I gained when you died. People don’t like to talk about that, but it’s a thing. Gratitude to Vanessa Johnston Williams, for raising me without you through those tricky teen years and beyond. Gratitude to Jo Tyler, Tracey Spring, Liz Evans and others for welcoming me into your families when I needed it. It takes a village. Gratitude for my talents, inherited or nurtured.
Gratitude that I’ve grown into a woman I like, and that dad, I feel you around me every day. Thank you for the message you sent me through Jo soon after your death:
“Think of me, I’m as free as I’ll ever be.”
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