Dad : pixeldiva

Five years is a long time, but it feels like it was only yesterday I sat there, listening to your last few breaths, wishing with every fibre of my being that I could make it easier and less painful for you.

I miss you so much. There isn't a day of those five years that I haven't missed you.

I wish we'd had more time.

I miss talking to you. I miss your advice. I miss sitting in the car outside the house because the radio's on and if we go into the house the moment will be lost and we won't turn the radio on and keep listening. I miss going to museums and stopping for a cup of tea (even though I don't drink it). I miss the jokes and the laughter, and I miss the conversations we never had because I thought we had all the time in the world to have them and it didn't exactly work out that way.

I wish you could see me now (well, not exactly now - stuck at home with a dodgy stomach is never a good look), but at where I've got to over the last five years.

J too. I don't know how it happened, but somewhere along the line, we accidentally grew up, and it feels weird. I'm so proud of her - her wee one is beautiful. She's an amazing child. So bright. So aware of her surroundings from such an early age. I wish you could have got a chance to see her, to hold her, to take her on trips to museums like you did with me. You'd have made such a great grandad.

She's not the only one I wish you could have met. I wish you could have met K. Who came into my life unexpectedly just five months ago, when things were so very bleak. Most people would have run a mile, but he didn't. He accepted me, as I was, and continues to accept me, as I am, each and every day, letting me be me - whatever that is at that time.

I wonder what it'd be like... if things had gone differently.

I imagine you coming down to visit. Helping us move house. Asking if I was sure I wanted to move. Asking if I was sure I wanted to move to Brixton, because, like me, your main knowledge of it would have been the coverage of the riots (but don't worry, things are very different now).

I can even picture us arguing over the construction of IKEA furniture - you wanting to read the instructions all the way through before even picking up the pieces, me wanting to jump straight in as I always did. I'm sure you'd be very impressed with the home automation stuff K's spent the last week putting in. I can switch the living room lights on and off with a tiny little remote and the hall light is even cleverer - that goes on and off by itself, on when you're in the hall, off a little while after you leave the hall. Energy efficient and safe for those 2am munchies.

I imagine taking you to museums instead of the other way around. I haven't visited many since being down here. It's just not the same.

I wish for lots of things that I know I can't change and all the wishing in the world can't bring you back - cos if it could, then surely five years worth would have done it already.

I miss you Dad. Every day.

...but for all that I miss you, I know that you're no longer suffering, and that, sometimes, is the only thing that makes this ache bearable.

Rest in peace, Dad.

I love you.

Dad

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