Tomorrow, June 1st, 2007

I thought I'd be ok by now, I thought maybe the pain would fade a bit, but every year this week is really hard for me. At first I'm not sure why I'm feeling a bit strange, in the back of my mind it's there, making me feel a bit sad and uneasy. Then suddenly I realise why, I think about the date - June 1st. How could I forget it, how will I ever. It's almost 6 months since his birthday, or at least when his birthday would have been.
Then all the scenes come back, the hospital, the corridors, that smell, the annoying priest, the doctors, the phone calls, the look in my dad's eyes when we saw him, the putting the cap on his head and watching him be wheeled away. If only I'd known then that would be the last time I'd see him, I would've said more, I would've held him for an hour, I would've told him all the things I thought I had time to. I did say 'I love you' and for that I'm glad. It's more than a lot of other people get to do, and for that I'm glad. I'm sure he heard us. I'm sure he would have forgiven us too, if he could've seen us afterwards. If he'd been there in that cubicle.

It's seven years since my Dad died, which makes it particularly hard because it was on a friday he died. And I can't believe how much I still miss him, now all these years later. I still sometimes think, 'maybe I should tell Dad that', and then a split second later remember. I still wonder what he would think about what I'm doing and where I am (I think he'd be proud), most of all I wonder if he is up there somewhere. I hope he sees what I am (and what my brothers are) and what we're doing.

And I really hope he has some golf clubs and a glass of red wine (or a bottle) and a few friends to tell stories to.

I miss you Dad and I love you. Rest well.