I hate February. The first half of February is stuffed with painful reminders that Valentine’s Day is approaching. The date my Dad died 7 years ago. People say time’s a healer. People lie. Every single year, I get angrier and more upset by the adverts I see and the emails pinging into my inbox reminding me about February 14th. Like I could forget.
Like I’ll ever forget bursting into tears at work, when I received a call telling me my dad wasn’t breathing. Like I’ll forget ringing my brother who lives 600 miles away to tell him our Dad was going to die soon. Like I’ll forget screaming at the Doctor who refused to try to help my Dad any more – who refused to believe me when I said he’d responded to my voice. Like I’ll forget holding my Dad’s hand as his time approached, promising him I’d walk the dog and wear a United shirt to his funeral.
So… Why am I sorry?
I’m sorry because I have been hell to live with recently. I feel like I have to be happy for the kids. The kids my Dad will never meet. The grandkids he’d have adored. The grandkids he’d have done anything for. I feel guilty because I know they’ve been robbed of the best grandad in the world. DaddyGeek has put up with more than his fair share of crap-wife-ness these past few weeks.
I can’t explain it, but I am watching the bond developing between hubby and Syd. I miss that bond. I miss my Dad. I miss our silly sayings that made sense to nobody else. I miss him shouting from the kitchen… “Tea for tee?” I miss the smell of burnt to a crisp toast. I miss the smell of damp fishing gear in the back of my car, the smell of wood shavings in the air, his amazing Fatherly advice. I miss it all.
I know hubby and Syd will have a bond as strong as I did with my Dad. I can already see it forming. She adores him, and the feeling is mutual. I know my Dad would have approved of my choice of Husband. (They never met). I just wish that I didn’t have to spend weeks and weeks every year getting upset at every mention of Valentine’s day, flowers, etc.
I wish I didn’t turn into an emotional wreck every year, taking everything personally, crying every 5 seconds and hating everyone who was even slightly happy about February the Fourteenth.
You know what? I would quite happily sleep through February every single year.
I can’t though. So instead, I will say SORRY to my nearest and dearest. Thank you for putting up with my self pitying, woe is me-ness. Thank you for not moaning about the fact the house looks like a bomb site, thank you for accepting the fact we will never celebrate Valentine’s Day on 14th February & above all else, thank you for being… you! x
PS To my regular readers… I’m Sorry for the soppy, woe is me post. Normal service will resume – eventually!