Father's Day

 Last night I cried because I felt a strange sadness that I knew that I missed my dad, the dad I had seen in a picture in my daughter's A-level Art portfolio. He was the man who I remembered loving like a daughter should. 

It is a fact that I miss the one who needed so much physical help less. We still laughed and talked but I felt the dad I really loved was disappearing or gone. Perhaps this fade of need is more natural than I felt at the time. Over the years of my daughter's life, she growing more and more independent, he lost so much of it. 

This father's day I am facing a sudden change, I know the weeks of healing that go with surgery, the first few hours of a level of helplessness that mean you rely completely on others, and then hours turn to days and the joy of going home followed by the peculiar understanding of one day at a time. The walking down the road, making it one step further, the first time on a bus, the first pain free day, the first time eating out again, the first day back at work. And before you realise it your recovered, 6 weeks, a year maybe you never are. Always changed a bit. 

I am not sure how to feel about this one, I might never fully recover, I might be to my daughter what he was to me. 24 days left to know this and not know this. To hope and to fear. 

To every season.

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