Fathers Day without you.......

This Father's Day has been a particularly difficult one. I've had 9 since my dad passed, I don't recall ever struggling through them, not even the first one. I was pregnant with my first born and cocooned in the cosy balm of pregnancy hormones that acted as teflon to the recent grief I had suffered. 

After that, I had a new born and there were too many other important and significant dates to highlight the grief, Birthday, Christmas, anniversaries, my daughters birth etc etc. 

But something happened this week in the lead up to father days, an otherwise innocuous occasion. I called his phone number. I didn't mean to, he and my brother share the same name. My husband had asked me to call the latter about something work related, with juggling hands I scrolled through and clicked on Mike not Mikey. It was only after the dead tone (no pun intended) and my iPhone helpfully telling me that I'd called 'Mike Loveday' 'Dad', 'Dad Home' did I want 'Dad Mob' that i realised what I had done. 

Grief and loss are a funny old thing, you don't know how you will respond to it. You can know yourself to the core and you will still be sucker-punched by the sheer power that the death of a significant person brings. This accidental phone call, was akin to spying someone in the street who looks like my dad, or smelling someone who wears the same aftershave. But actually now I think on it and type, it feels worse than that. It's the fact I still have his number, these useless digits that float in the ether that no longer connect me to him- literally. It's like a sucker punch all over again, the grief and loss have hit refresh and leave a bitter aftertaste across my tongue. 

I don't know why I've kept his number, it's maybe because my dad didn't leave anything behind. I won't go into the details too much, but he had no home he owned to sell, his clothes and belongings got dealt with. My sister, brother and I salvaged a watch each from his collection. We kept bits and bobs, but nothing significant. His number seemed like this part of him, this tether that was too bold a move to cut. It's the only time I have ever called it, and I realise that tether is cut anyway. 

There is so much I wish I could share and tell him about the last 9 years. Not even the big stuff, like the birth of my children and nephew. Or that Adam and I finally bought a house.  Or the work I have achieved over the years. It's the silly little things I am remembering today, the chats we would have had over a bottle of red about how hot London is right now. Or, how in the hell i'm getting by still not driving aged 36 with 2 kids and the job I do! Or what we would both be cooking on this night as we bake in our separate parts of London Town. As I type, I realise this is the closest I have felt to him in the 9yrs since he has passed. That accidental call triggered a kaleidoscope of memories and dream chats that I've not had in a while. So I'm going to look to the positive and I'm going to try and focus, not on my loss and the fact I can't actually hear his voice. But on these lovely slices of recall from times gone by. I love you daddy. HAPPY FATHERS DAY. Xxx