Dad the Introvert (aka, where I get it from...)
I suddenly realized during a recent walk alone with my grief, that Dad was the ultimate introvert, that he "cave-d" in his garage. Was comfortable with siltence, with being together and not talking (in contrast to my chatterbox Mum!). He often seemed lost in his own world, quite apart from us and the noise of family life. I never realized before that this is where I got my introvert-ness from.
Dad could jsut sit, lost in thought, entirely content with himself - a rare quality. Still. Engrossed in his world, in the flow of books, or bikes, or building. The moments of love, or connection with him, were even more special for the fact that they were so seldom... His awkward hug and kiss on the cheek as a greeting. The 2 letters I ever received from him. The odd email. Value in their scarcity.
Or the time we sat across from each other at Morley Avenue, in the small kitchen. This was August 2020 and Mum was in hospital again. It was breakfast time and for once I was actually sitting at the table, still, not rushing around. I was overwhelmed with loss for Mum and put my head on the table and cried. I remember that Dad reached out for my hands and just held them as I cried. He told me that he'd dreamt recently about "P". In his dream she was a young woman, running across a field. He said that he missed her. This was one of the few times I've ever seen him open up...
It's hard of course to find pictures of my Dad being an introvert! but i love these 2 snaps. My Dad smoked a pipe for many years and I love this pic of Kate and him in her little garden. The two of them were also quick happy to sit in companionable silence. The other pic clearly shows that I got my book-ish tendencies from both parents! Mum always claims she got Dad back into read on their honeymoon :-) Make of that what you will, but Dad (when he did finally sit down and relax occassionally) also had a book to hand!
Dad could jsut sit, lost in thought, entirely content with himself - a rare quality. Still. Engrossed in his world, in the flow of books, or bikes, or building. The moments of love, or connection with him, were even more special for the fact that they were so seldom... His awkward hug and kiss on the cheek as a greeting. The 2 letters I ever received from him. The odd email. Value in their scarcity.
Or the time we sat across from each other at Morley Avenue, in the small kitchen. This was August 2020 and Mum was in hospital again. It was breakfast time and for once I was actually sitting at the table, still, not rushing around. I was overwhelmed with loss for Mum and put my head on the table and cried. I remember that Dad reached out for my hands and just held them as I cried. He told me that he'd dreamt recently about "P". In his dream she was a young woman, running across a field. He said that he missed her. This was one of the few times I've ever seen him open up...
It's hard of course to find pictures of my Dad being an introvert! but i love these 2 snaps. My Dad smoked a pipe for many years and I love this pic of Kate and him in her little garden. The two of them were also quick happy to sit in companionable silence. The other pic clearly shows that I got my book-ish tendencies from both parents! Mum always claims she got Dad back into read on their honeymoon :-) Make of that what you will, but Dad (when he did finally sit down and relax occassionally) also had a book to hand!