This week, we published a post on The Adoption Social from a lady whose dad walked out on her mum very close to her starting introductions with her second child. It really resonated with me, not because my circumstances are similar - they're not, but it so happens that this week is the anniversary of my dad leaving.
11 years. That's how long it's been since I saw my father. But not because he walked out, because he died. Because he couldn't cope, and he took his own life.
I've been feeling especially sad about it this year, probably because we made the decision to not renew Dad's 'plot' at the crematorium - his memorial plant and plaque. I've been wondering whether it was the right decision; whether we should have scraped together the several hundred pounds to keep it. Common sense tells me it's the right time to walk away and stop visiting. My heart tells me I'm not quite ready to end my twice yearly visits to the peaceful gardens of remembrance and I feel conflicted.
This inner conflict has brought a new kind of grief with it too. No longer do I spend evenings sobbing hysterically in the arms of my husband. But instead I have gentle tears and lip quivering whenever I think of all that my Dad has missed. Now, as I write this, little plops of salty water are slowly, silently crawling down my cheeks and landing on the keyboard...
Dollop calls him her good ghost. She's really brave and never worries about naughty ghosts and witches and ghouls and baddies, because she knows her good ghost will scare them away. It comforts me to know that even though they never met, Dollop trusts her granddad to look out for her.
I'm trying really hard to focus on positive things at the moment, and although we will remember Dad on his 'Angel Day', I'll try also to remember with happiness, that it's also the anniversary of the day we met Mini, we have a litter of 3 day old guinea pigs to cuddle and enjoy, it's nearly the weekend, and we've reached 101 weeks of #WASO - so many things to celebrate, that's where I need to put my head.