My Dad and are there fish under that bridge?

Time ,it is said, is too precious to waste and too precious not to share, life is good so share it.

I am not good with time. Henry Thoreau once quipped “Time is a stream I go a-fishing in” and that is what I do, much to the annoyance of the wonderful Val, this blogs co-author. I fish in Time, I catch the bits I want and store them in the keep net of my head and most of the rest is .. just stuff that happens. I don’t keep track of dates, I rely on others for prompts that wedding anniversaries and birthdays are due and in that reliance I miss things that perhaps I should not.

This came to light today when I was sitting with my long suffering Mother, (long suffering because she is MY mother) and it came to light that with travelling and other what nots and flim flam I missed the anniversary of my Dad dying.

There are many days  when I wish he was here and  I feel his absence deeply. To meet and captivate, as he always did with my girl friends, Val. To make a speech when I got married.  To do the proud grandfather thing when Niall arrived pink and loud into the family. All moments missed and filled with that unrequited potential of “what iff-ery”.

But .. my dad did not stop being my dad when he died. He did not stop being there for me in those moments that a hug was needed or a calming word required. He is and always will be that little part of me that is quiet and thoughtful, (yes it does exist), the part that is quick to laugh, the part that never allows a question to go unasked, the part that never wants to leave an injustice unchallenged, the part of me that understands that happiness is not having what you want but wanting what you have, the part that helps me be a father to Niall and the part of me that cannot cross a bridge without wondering if there are fish under there.

This is the “me” that he planted and watered all those years ago and I continue to grow in ways that might surprise him but for which I will forever be thankful. These things need no special day to remember. These things are and will always be “my dad” not echoes nor frail memories but real palable things I rely on every day.

Maybe that’s what it’s all about after all …

So a couple of days late, I raise a tin of Magner’s Pear Cider late in the evening and make a toast to my self and the universe

“Dad …. Thanks!”