Last October, there was the sensation of reaching the bottom of the barrel on more than one occasion. That oh oh time, when you go - ok think I'm going to get hurt, and it's going to hurt so so bad.
December - dumped by text. Hurt more by another's cowardice than their intentions. There was a brief flurry of discussions after that - that mainly confirmed - this person no more knew their intentions than they could calculate the ability to make their actions match their words.
Just before New Year, my Dad threw his holiday surprise routine at me. Let's go to Spain, for New Year.
I could survive Christmas - Christmas I was with my family. But New Year - yes, leaving the country was needed.
Holidays with Dad were always a bit of a white knuckle ride - he would combine ingenious last minute deals with some times some quite obscure travelling arrangements.
I knew if we got to Spain on New Year's eve - well that would give enough time to keep breathing until I could sift my hurt through the filter of Spanish air. Dad and I spent much of our three days away talking about our natural affinity with Spain, with it's air, climate, and look of the land. Like we had returned to our ancestral home.
On New Year's eve - we went down to the beach. We walked around the really posh restaurant that we would discuss in awe - and recall how we weren't going to have dinner there because none of our holiday clothes were good enough. I knew back home there would be people and parties, and shouting and cheering. We didn't have that - we had the sea.
A thick black sea swept up back and forth over the sand. We walked up and down the beach, listening to the hush, hush of the sea at night. It was the best way to greet the next year. So, we spent the remainder of the holiday just doing that - watching the sea.
I told my dad how my homeopathic medicine had been chosen to reflect my love of the sea and the beach. He told me my mum had been the same - she had loved the beach, it made her feel better.
The first day we sat - it was hot. We sat and looked out at the waves, and enjoyed the sun. In between our sea watching bouts - we went to cafe's and drank coffee, and talked.
We didn't know this would be our last holiday - we didn't know these would be our last chats.
That my lasting memory would be of watching my dad sitting at a bench, with sun hat on, wearing t-shirt and shorts, looking over the shore.
Holidays had always meant lot's of plans. Dad always took his music, his mini stereo, an electric bike, and an intinery that meant we would go and see things. This time - he hadn't brought much beyond his clothes.
I remember how surprised I was that he was eager to go to cafe's and just banter away. The cafe we sat in on New Year's day was full of happy crazy music and drunk people dancing outside - a couple who owned the cafe were swaying with each other as they clasped hands and waists together.
The next day it was colder, and wet. We decided at the end of a rather nippy wave watching session, that we would go for dinner. The cafe we chose was deserted. I'd spent time in the morning chosing a good place to go - this cafe had displays of sea food that were mind boggling. The cafe was deserted - so we sat inside and ate sardines and meat and salad.
I talked to dad about the areas about pixie care, and running a pixie club that make me question the far bigger issues of how we look after our children - what is right, what is wrong. Dad looked at me, and said, wow, look at you, you could be on TV. A dad who told me everything I needed to know - when you aren't being heard, when you want to say something important - I believe in your ability to say it.
All the watching of the sea - had helped wash away the sadness of the year. A near promise of a future and a family had drowned, and I was filled with awful dreams of a house whose walls ran with wet inside that I could not stop.
I had cried - but the sea, her lovely waves entered a part of me that could not cry. A part that needed gentler care. Dad and I talked briefly about the loss of the relationship.
I knew somewhere deep inside that this was all I needed to get me ready - to be ready to pick myself up from the I have so been dumped corner and start running again.
Dad gave time. He probably talked to more people than we will ever know. He loved his family. None of us knew that his time was short. That he would die suddenly.
He wanted all of his children to know he was proud of them. That when he did die, that they would pull together. He spoke often of how happy he was that we got on well as adults, that he could come to us all for advice.
You get to meet people sometimes who are giants - who live big. Dad lived big. Today, right now - think of those people and send them a hug. Send two.
Labels: bereavement, christmas, family, new year, relationships
