002 - Father's Day

SO today is Father's Day. Don't worry: I did the research for you, and despite it initially beginning as plural possessive, it is now conventionally punctuated as singular possessive. Not so much interesting or funny as it is true. 🤷‍♂️

These sorts of days are wondrous celebrations of the fathers in our lives (well, most of us having one...unless you're like the hussy that is my mum and onto model number 3; more on that later!), as is Mother's Day and Cat Day (again, I've done the research for you: August the 8th) et al. But, if like me, you have lost a parent, or perhaps even more unbearable, both parents then these days can be very painful and bring up myriad negative emotions, feelings and discomfort.

As I'm sure anyone who know me knows, I lost my dad when I was only 2 years old. he was 36 and he had liver cancer, the vicious bastard...cancer that is, not my dad - he was a gentle and caring man with a wicked sense of humour.

So I'm told.

And that's perhaps the most heartbreaking thing of all: I just don't know, from a personal perspective frame of reference. Oftentimes these days I hear wondrous stories and hilarious or touching (or heartbreaking, from my mum talking about times near the end 😭) stories about him, and sometimes it leaves me a bit broken, because they feel like stories about a chap I never really got to know. Cos, you know, they are.

It used to be that I'd always see people with close bonds to their dads, or see them come to gigs or tell stories and laugh and joke together and, I don't wish to sound like a robot, but: bleep blarp bllurg...(that's a joke) but, because I didn't have a frame of reference I just couldn't relate and it wouldn't leave me 'sad' as such, it's just that I felt, perhaps nonchalant is a good choice of word. It was just a 'fact' that I'd come to accept and grow up with.

We also had a wonderful man as a step dad growing up, a chap called Les, and he deserves a plethora of blog posts in his own right, and I don't wish to leave him as a mere footnote in this one, as he was a warm caring and (oftentimes unwittingly 😂) funny man who'd do anything for us. But, Les, this particular post ain't about you *son, so sit down. 😉💕 (*wait till the end: perhaps it is, too 💕)

But since having a son of my own and being a dad - well, if you can call the specific buffoonery that I exemplify 'being a dad' - I've become more and more interested in my dad, who he was, what he was about, and I feel weirdly closer to him than I ever have. It's like, going through what he went through with me and my brother, form, I don't know how to express this, but a bond that permeates through time and even somewhat circumvents death.

I saw my son come out (not as much fun as making him, let's face it) and I held him in my arms. And I know that my dad did that to me. I've rubbed tears from my sons eyes (which, weirdly I have now in my eyes); my dad did that for me. I've fed my son, I've talked to him, I helped him bath, I've brushed his teeth, I've cleaned his bum, I've picked him up when he fell; all of these things and more my dad did to me. He actually did them. Even though I don't remember them, I know now from doing it myself how he must've felt, how his heart probably was bursting and breaking and melting, as is the melting pot of emotions being a parent is.

And through experiencing them: I'm feeling HIM. What was once an abstract notion of a man I felt I'd never met so didn't feel a 'connection' with, is becoming a more real and fully fleshed out human being with each experience I have that I know mirror ones he had. And with that I'm feeling a connection I never thought possible, learning to love what now feels real that was once just a ghost others would tell me about. Does any of that make sense? With each thing I experience or learn about myself I learn more about him - the good and the bad - parenting's hard, eh and pushes you to feel every emotion, emotions I know he felt. It's like that scene in the first Hellraiser where his daughter brings him back to life and he become flesh and bone again. Only, thankfully I just have to have similar experiences as my dad had, and not go about killing anybody like the poor lady in the Hellraiser, thank god - I've never been one for gore 😖🎥

Not only that: Rufus looks like my dad when he was a kid. And I now know that I looked like my dad when he was kid. And I also look like Rufus. Who looks like me. Who looks like my dad (both of us). We look alike, ya get it? And that's what I mean about permeating through time and perhaps even overcoming death. There's a thread that runs through us that has connected my dad to Rufus, and then running through me connects me to them both. And vice versa; we're connected, ya get me?

So, in a way, even though he isn't here, he sort of is. Through me and through Rufus, and if Rufie is ever mad enough to do this, through his kids too. We're all connected. And, as this next part is going to try to explain, not just as individual families but ALL of us, and everything on this planet and in this universe.

If you've made it this far: please send me a stamped addressed envelope and I'll post your medal. Here's where it's going to get a bit crazy: you ready?

Well, earlier on today we went out for a little walk around Patrick's Patch in Beaulieu for Father's Day. It was beautiful, perfect even. As we sat down a fly landed on my arm. One of the people I was with, er, let's call her J. Brenig...no, wait that's too obvious, let's call her Joey B-J, tried to get me to get rid of it. And I said: 'this fly has every right to exist as we do and is as vital and beautiful as you or I (to be fair, that describes her more than me) so I shan't get rid of it.' Yes, dear reader, if you haven't already ascertained: I'm annoying! 🤷‍♂️😂 She reluctantly agreed and put her fly swat down 😉. The fly then juts sat on me. Wouldn't move. And I, initially joking, but as I often do, as the words started coming from mouth I started to believe them myself, I said 'what if this fly is my dad? What if he's come to say hello on Father's Day?' And I thought about it, and thought: is that such a strange concept? Just then Rufus pointed to it and said 'that's your dad!' With tears in my eyes I didn't then, and still don't know now, if that is one of the most beautiful things he's ever said or the most amazing burn he's thus far hit me with? 🤷‍♂️💕

Now, I don't wish to turn this into a discussion about reincarnation, so I'm not even suggestion that it was 'HIM' as in a conscious being saying to itself 'yum was just knocking about on some poo...oh look there's my son, perhaps I'll go and say hello!' But maybe, somehow, he was 'there' - in the garden, in the air, in the sky? 🤷‍♂️💕

Now, listen, I know there’s a *pretty good chance (*pretty much absolute certainty 😂💕) that the fly was not my dad. But, with regard to what I'm going to say next, it could have been. I don’t know what happens to us after death, and maybe he is ‘somewhere’ still looking on (I hope he closes his eyes sometimes, you know what I mean, mate). And even if that is just his atoms fulfilling their purpose in other life form oblivious to their former use, much as we all came from exploding stars before us, then that's cool too. Because, thinking in these terms, nothing or no one ever really dies. Which mean Les is there too, so this was also about you, you beautiful man. 💕

Much love to anyone reading this, but especially to the ones who've lost loved ones ands these days magnify that loss. They're still there, somewhere. 💕