Late night musings - The parents edit.

Today is the anniversary of Dads death, 5 years to be exact. It seems almost impossible to me that its been that length of time. 5 years seems like a milestone - time has marched on without him and its now harder for me to recall his voice, to pull his laugh from the depths of my memories.

The guilt that comes with time moving on isn't new to me, I felt much the same with Mum, that the more time that passed the further behind she was.

I find so many seemingly normal things jarring since losing my parents, the things that sneak up on you without warning. When things in our local town centre change I am momentarily saddened that my parents would not recognise their hometown. I fully expected the big moments - the missing presence for special occasions, birthdays and holidays. But the small, thats what really knocks the wind out of me. The unexpected.

My parents married in 1990, Id like to tell you the story of how they met but Im not 100 percent sure. I know they went to school together and then lost touch for a while. They weren't perfect, far from it in some ways but they made our childhood special. The family unit that went camping, drove around to look at Christmas lights and did life.

My Brother and Sister were raised by my Dad from a young age , he saw them as his children too. When my parents divorced the hardest thing for me was the guilt. That I went to Dads house and my siblings didn't, although he saw them still it isn't the same as having the parent who has been a consistent figure in your life there. I felt uncomfortable knowing that they couldn't spend that time with him, and knowing that it hurt him too. He says as much in his journals which came to me after he died. Sometimes life is complex ,marriage is messy and divorce well that's the messiest of all. For many years I felt guilty that I lived half the week with Dad. I longed to return to that family unit, with all of its issues. Because that was when we were together.

Dad told me shortly after Mums death in 2012 that he couldn't imagine living in a world that she didn't. He made it 10 years, but something in him changed that day. And as the ex husband people are not as understanding or accepting of that fact. He was an outsider at the funeral of the woman he had grown up with, the mother of his child. It was as though he was expected to continue on without recognition of the fact that his world had also been changed irrevocably.

I didnt see that back then, too swallowed by own grief I leant on him and retreated into my own sadness. As was his way he never grumbled, never took up that space to say how much he was hurting. I heard that many years later in a frank conversation that reminded me that my parents were people. Flawed, wonderful, honest, chaotic, messy people. And I wouldn't have it any other way.