WAM
It's ten years today since Dad died. Fittingly, I've spent most of the day with 
bigtaz, as he had his sixth lot of chemotherapy.
This time ten years ago I was at the Accident and Medical centre in Avondale getting my wrist stitched back up, and a tetanus shot. The scars are still there on the right side on my right wrist, pale and keloided against the skin. (My brother was moving back in with me and Mum and Grandma, having moved out of Dad and step-mother and step-sibling's house that afternoon. I tried to open a window in the downstairs area where he was going to sleep. It was stuck, I pushed on the glass, and it shattered. I was very lucky to not do worse damage, as both my hands and wrists went through.)
This time ten years ago my father was in St Joseph's Hospice up at Mercy Hospital, rattling away the last of his breaths. I'd last seen him a day or two earlier. I can't remember exactly when, anymore, but the way he looked reminded me of Christian martyrs in the old paintings - a drawn wan face with sunken eyes and forgotten beard. He didn't look like my father anymore.
Dad had been diagnosed with bowel cancer six or so months earlier, just before he was to get married again. Dianne took good care of him, I'll give her that, but there was no love lost between her and me, and especially not between her and my brother. We're not in touch any more.
Ten years has gone quickly - over a third of my life. I wonder if he would like the person I am today? Would he be proud of me? Would he like Ben (I think that he would, but of course I'd think that)?
He was a tall gentle man, with a booming voice and gentle laugh and lots of love for all his kids - he was a primary school teacher, reading recovery teacher, girl's basketball coach. He ran marathons very slowly, loved British comedy, and collected January editions of Playboy magazine for many years.
I still have some of his books. I still have some of his precious belongings. I still have memories of him as a father. But I never got to know him as a person.
I miss my Dad. But I miss the man I never knew more.
bigtaz, as he had his sixth lot of chemotherapy.
This time ten years ago I was at the Accident and Medical centre in Avondale getting my wrist stitched back up, and a tetanus shot. The scars are still there on the right side on my right wrist, pale and keloided against the skin. (My brother was moving back in with me and Mum and Grandma, having moved out of Dad and step-mother and step-sibling's house that afternoon. I tried to open a window in the downstairs area where he was going to sleep. It was stuck, I pushed on the glass, and it shattered. I was very lucky to not do worse damage, as both my hands and wrists went through.)
This time ten years ago my father was in St Joseph's Hospice up at Mercy Hospital, rattling away the last of his breaths. I'd last seen him a day or two earlier. I can't remember exactly when, anymore, but the way he looked reminded me of Christian martyrs in the old paintings - a drawn wan face with sunken eyes and forgotten beard. He didn't look like my father anymore.
Dad had been diagnosed with bowel cancer six or so months earlier, just before he was to get married again. Dianne took good care of him, I'll give her that, but there was no love lost between her and me, and especially not between her and my brother. We're not in touch any more.
Ten years has gone quickly - over a third of my life. I wonder if he would like the person I am today? Would he be proud of me? Would he like Ben (I think that he would, but of course I'd think that)?
He was a tall gentle man, with a booming voice and gentle laugh and lots of love for all his kids - he was a primary school teacher, reading recovery teacher, girl's basketball coach. He ran marathons very slowly, loved British comedy, and collected January editions of Playboy magazine for many years.
I still have some of his books. I still have some of his precious belongings. I still have memories of him as a father. But I never got to know him as a person.
I miss my Dad. But I miss the man I never knew more.