The Early Bird

gets the worm, or so we're told. I'm posting early because I've got a long, stressful day ahead, and that's just work wise. Today is the anniversary of my father's death, and probably the main cause for my lame posts and melancholic mood this week. My father died 16 years ago today. From cancer of the throat, and he wasn't even a smoker. He was 51. I'm now closer to his final age, than I am to mine at the time of his death. That means something to me, but I can't quite put my finger on what it is. Time is meant to be a great healer, and if I'm honest for a while it was. I may have mentioned before that I'm an only child, so I have no siblings to discuss and reminisce with. My mother doesn't really like to talk about his death and what happened. She nursed him for quite a while before he died, and he wasn't himself before he died. He was on morphine for quite some time, and kept a journal of sorts. To him I think it acted as a crutch. Most of it is incoherrent ramblings regarding the amount of food he had been able to consume. He was a bright, articulate man, who needed to try and keep some element of control over his life, yet circumstances robbed him of that. I don't want to go over the details of what happened at the end, there's a post from last year that I think goes into that, but seeing you father in a morphine stupor and weighing about 5 stones isn't the lasting image you'd like. Whilst I was still childless myself, time was a healer, the pain wasn't quite as sharp as the years went on. It hurt to see other people forging new and different parental bonds. Friends of mine would go out for a beer with their dad, and the whole dynamic of their relationships changed as they found new common ground, regarding work, relationships etc etc. I felt jealous and slightly bitter that I never got that opportunity with my father. Then when I had my first child another realisation hit. My children would never know one of their grandfathers. He too was robbed of the chance of enjoying the benefits that come of being a grandparent. This year we have another child, and the feelings come fresh again, another one who will never know him, except from photographs. He was wonderful around children too, they seemed to sense that he was the source of great stories and fun. I think he had so much to give because my parents had wanted more children, but were unable to have them. I know what a wonderful grandfather he would have been, and it is painful to know that my children have missed out on the fun he would have brought them. Sorry for the depressive tone of this post, if you've made it this far, but I see this as somewhere to express my feelings. Mrs Zilla is good at listening, but hasn't lost anyone close to her yet, and her parents are experiencing the joy of having grandchildren. I need to try and end this on some sort of upbeat note, so this quote is my attempt at it: It is not flesh and blood, but the heart, that makes us father and son. Johann Schiller