The sands of time do not erode grief

This week is taper week, and I'm now in the process of getting myself ready to run an Ultra. At this point the training is done, it's either enough or it isn't, only time will tell. The big bit is getting my head right and making sure I'm mentally ready for this challenge, not just the Ultra, but the subsequent events. I've always been a worrier and yet I always get it done, this year is the first time I've thought "what if I don't" Prior to events, I think about dad a lot. This year, I think about Paul too. Along with my step-dad, they have been my male role models in life, and knowing what I know now, I couldn't ask for better. All flawed, non-perfect, but all having given all they can to their families. I'm now 42, I've outlived my dad, I have accumulated a lot of experiences of life that challenge and shift my perceptions of him, and our all to short relationship. People say time makes grief easier. People are full of shit. If anything I miss him more. I remember less and less of him as time goes by. What did he sound like? what was his laugh like? what did he smell like? Our memory is a poor recollection of the truth, it only holds onto what allows us to keep going. It's time for me to unpick that memory a bit and revisit just what dad means to me.

Dad then

Dad was my hero, I idolised him. I wanted to spend all my time with him. I'd bug him when he was sat eating his cereal, at the kitchen bar, watching cricket, football or rugby on his crappy black and white tv. He'd love a beer and chocolate in the evening and would always share his chocolate with me. To my recollection, he never complained when I wanted him, but as mum reminds me, he was a stereotypical product of his time. He didn't do nappy changes, or reading to us. But he would take us on days out, he worked hard as did mum. Both worked shifts and like shifts passing in the night, didn't get much of a time together, me and stu (my brother) always came first. We didn't have much money (oh how i'd learn that later) but we were taken on days out, got the best presents and the most precious gift of all; mum and dads time. I had no idea how unhappy mum and dad were, how much they struggled. Mortgage, bills etc, they had a lot of pressure and dad wasn't great with money. But as a family we struggled on.... until we didn't. I woke one morning, to find a note, from dad. Now I've only read it years ago, I can't remember the last time I read it, I'm not sure I'd have the courage to read it again. But I can recall it. It was mainly to mum, he was sorry, he had failed to keep up with the mortgage and this was the only way out. Their was a bit for my brother and a bit for me. To do him proud at my new school (I was starting secondary school that year) TO DO HIM PROUD. I carried that for a long time, it defined me as a person and pushed me. It took me a long time to realise I couldn't live life like that. Their are tear marks on the letter. They aren't dads. They are mine. I was alone with my brother, I had no idea what was happening. I was 11, I wasn't built for this. In my head he'd ran away, I could comprehend it. This was my first time babysitting and in charge, I rang mum's work (she'd been on a night shift) hoping she'd come home soon. She wasn't there. I ran upstairs and go me and Stu dressed, just to do something. From then on, I spend my life trying to be the man on the house, as I was told, to be strong for mum (never by mum by the way) Then I saw a doctor (we lived next to a dr) trying to resuscitate dad, and the awful truth hit, he had got in the car, ran a tube from the exhaust and shut himself in the garage, he'd tried to kill himself. The drs saw me and stu in the house, then the ambulance arrived. The man in the ambulance would later become my step-dad and save my mums life but that's another story. Then mum arrived and the lock of terror will haunt me forever. The rest of a day is a blur, the next few weeks are, but me and stu went to my aunties, while mum went with dad. She later told me she hoped he died as the thought of him, so brain damaged was unbearable. I'll never forget going into my aunties kitchen, when mum came to pick us up, and asking if dad was ok? Mum had to tell us, he'd died. Later, we'd go to see his body at the funeral director's, It's the hardest thing i've ever done. But until I saw him lying there, the life gone from him, I could accept it. My dad, my hero was gone.

The teenage years were hard, I believed dad was a hero, he'd died to save us. You see while we were at the hospital, the house was repossessed, his life insurance would let us have a home. I truly believed he was a hero, accept when I was angry at him or hated his guts or thought he was a coward. Winston's wish saved me. Hearing others feel how I did made me feel normal, be ok with being happy, learn to handle the bad days. It gave me a childhood.

For a long time, I was so sure dad was a hero, the man who saved his family.

But age brings a different perspective.

Dad now

Dad never got to meet his grandson, I know how much he'd loved him. It's the bittersweet experience of life. My marriage, graduation, getting my masters, sporting moments; all amazing, all without him. Did was a quiet man, an amazingly dry sarcastic sense of humour, I wish I could have just gone to the rugby with him and had a pint after. That I miss more than anything, seeing my friends go and do that with their dads; I wish they knew what a privilege that is. Being a dad is hard, juggling work, supporting Em, carving time out for me. Being a husband is hard, I'm not the most affectionate, and I can be over sensitive, needy, I'm not good at being tired. But I love Em and I know dad would have too, I try my best. I always try my best. But sometimes it takes a toll. Time makes me realise dad wasn't a hero. He wasn't a coward. He was flawed, like we all are. The world was just too much and he took it on, alone. He was from a generation that didn't ask for help. I've often thought about if I could go back in time to see him, when would I go? Two weeks before he died, we went to thorpe park, it was the best day. I realise now, he was saying good bye. It poured with rain. We all sat in the car sheltering; he got out as he said he needed fresh air. I often wonder if he was doubting what he was going to do. I would go to him, tell him I know how burdened he is, how scary it is to provide for these little people who adore him, care nothing for his flaws, they love him wholey. I know, I feel it with my son. That we'd survive and get through, that it would be a better life with him in it. Get back in the car, enjoy the day. Get help.

The forgotten people

This story focuses on me and Dad. but others have been impacted and suffered, and now I want to mention them Mum I know how much of you, you lost in this journey. You put so much of yourself into making sure me and stu had a happy child. We did, I just wish you didn't have to give so much. I've always been proud of your strength and your resiliancy, I just wish you believed in you more. I'm so glad you found degs, and beat your demons. Thank you for being an amazing nanny. Nan You moved in and looked after us. You always put us first. I miss you

Em I have so much baggage and often feel like a mess. You let me talk about dad. you pull me together, you took my worst and made me better It's taken a long time to realise, that I had strong male role models, but the Ladies in my life, might just be stronger and have shown me how to be ok with opening up. There, that's a load off and now I can go do this! https://2024fordridelondon.enthuse.com/pf/russ-brookes