Six Moments For Six Years

Tonight is six long years since my father passed away. I set aside from nightfall tonight until tomorrow night to remember him and all he gave me, and to learn in his memory.

Here are six moments in time I would love to have with you if I could.

1. Invite you for Shabbat at my house, the way I so often came to you. I’d cook, and plan, and worry about the food, and be so excited to welcome you into my own home. We would sing, and tell stories, and the time would run away from us, and I’d stay up all night asking the questions I never thought I wouldn’t get to ask.

2. Have a hug. As simple as it sounds, after it’s gone you never get the same kind of touch again that you receive from a parent. When the relationship is good, they know you, they empathise with you, they love you in an unconditional way, and that kind of emotion cant be transferred any better than through touch. Better than wishing for an entire day to sit and talk, I would love a chance to hear you call me sweetheart, and feel safe and loved in your arms again just for those few seconds.

3. Play with R. I’d sit back and watch the two of you spend effortless time together, him jabbering nonsense and you answering with pride. Reading him books, sitting him on your knee, looking into each other’s identical eyes, and singing him the same songs you once sang to me. Every day I hope that I can make up for the fact that he wont know his Zeida, and I’d love to see you with your grandson, just once.

4. Watch some Sci-Fi, play some board games, read silently next to each other, and pretend that the time isn’t precious and irreplaceable, and that we could do this every day if we wanted to, and that the choice to just exist together hasn’t been taken away forever.

5. Send you out with C, on a ‘male bonding’ outing. Who knows where you would go, and you’d probably both come back so very awkward, and to my annoyance, neither of you would remember what you even talked about or did. I’d just be so glad you got a chance to get to know each other, even in a small way, because my mind still finds it impossible to comprehend the two men in my life existing for me without true knowledge of the other. So yes, I’d gladly give up one of my nuggets of time with you, to know you got to meet him as my husband, even just that once.

6. Show you my world. How bitter-sweet to think of the amazing way my life turned out over the last six years, and yet how little of it you would recognise. You were always so unconditionally proud of me. Back then, I had just finished high school, now I have a degree and my own business. Like all 18 year olds, I worried I would never find ‘The One’, and now I proudly share my life with my best friend. The idea of kids didn’t cross my mind more than fleetingly, now my son is never out of my thoughts and yet somehow a complete stranger to you. These have been the years of my life that I’m likely to change the most. I’m simply a different person.

Six years on, would you even know me? And Daddy, would you still be proud?

Advertisements
Next Post
Leave a comment

9 Comments

  1. Fiona

     /  July 30, 2012

    Thank you for this post. My mum died 19 years ago, and like you and your dad, didn’t get to meet my husband and my children. So many of your points struck a chord with me.

    The idea if dedicating a time specifically to remember is a lovely one.

    Reply
  2. abi

     /  July 30, 2012

    Shevz, this post made me really emotional. I remember your dad so clearly too, how he used to drive us back from school together and it was the biggest treat and as we got older and he moved into my community, how he would ask after you at every occasion, He clearly adored you. I wish you a long life.

    Reply
  3. Esther M

     /  July 30, 2012

    I love your Dennis tshirt (!) – and the rawness of your emotion is tangeable. Just before reading this I read the status of a friend whose father passed away just two weeks ago – he said ‘I was doing ok and then I saw a photograph’ – and I see how you don’t get over it, you just assimilate the knowledge of what has passed and learn to live with it. Would he have been proud of you? Hell yes!!

    Reply
    • Someone very special to me said to me during Shiva, “it doesnt get better-you just get better at it.” I find that helps me greatly. Some days you just don’t feel like being good at it, and that’s fine too.

      Wish your friend a long life from me, and thank you so much for the comment. 🙂 xx

      Reply
  4. I am sorry for your loss. My dad died over 25 years ago when I was a child, and it still makes me sad. This is a nice tribute to your father.

    Reply
  5. Devorah

     /  August 7, 2012

    Precious. Thank you for sharing and reminding me of just how special those moments we waste away, not knowing if they will be there tomorrow…

    Both boys shlufin away and I’m snuggled in bed with them reading your blog. Too afraid to go to sleep myself to be woken up 2 min later and be grumpy for being woken 😉 rather wait lovingly for one to wake up to my smile 😉

    Reply

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: