Today is six years since my father passed on. Today, I write to him.
In six years, your first grandchild has grown from the tiny mite we once spied on an ultrasound scan together, into a beautiful, graceful, compassionate and imaginative little girl. I’ll never forget the time you came with me to see her in an ultrasound scan. I saw your face as you fell in love. You were so sick, and yet so absolutely inspired.
In six years, your two other grandchildren, who you sadly never met, have become exhilarating, enthusiastic and character-filled little girls, whose laughter lights up the world.
In six years, I fell in I-thought-it-was-love. I fell out of it too. I stood alone for a long time. I fell right into true love, and I stand alone no more.
In six years, the world has changed and evolved and grown. How I wish you’d seen Facebook and Twitter and all of it. How much you would’ve loved it. How often I see the actual applications it could have been used for, for your life’s work. How I feel, so much, that you would’ve thrived within this sometimes-strange ecosystem. You’d have loved it.
In six years, I’ve realised I’m only alone if I believe it. I don’t believe I ever am, now.
In six years, I’ve learnt that bitterness does not help you grow.
In six years, I’ve tried really hard to learn to let go.
In six years, I’ve danced more than I did during my nights out. Except, this time, I do it around the lounge with my daughter, and not strangers in a dimly lit nightclub.
In six years, I’ve started to learn how to be me. Unashamedly so.
In six years, I’ve learnt that I absolutely must live with my heart on my sleeve. That’s where it belongs and if anyone doesn’t like it, I can kindly suggest they look the other way.
In six years, I’ve finally learnt what you were trying to tell me for so long. I have nothing to apologize for, unless I hurt someone. And I never intend to hurt anyone. Ever. You knew that from when I was very little.
In six years, I’ve taught myself resolve, and to steel against the sometimes wind of life. I’ve learnt that by remembering you, as you did, no matter what.
In six years, I’ve learnt that my anger at you being gone, is really just the sadness of missing you and your conversation. I am not afraid of that sadness, and I allow myself to miss you. The gap where you used to sit, is part of my life, and I accept it so.
In six years, I’ve come to make peace that you’re both gone. I’m at peace knowing that you are, however it may be, together. I am comforted by the assertion that that was one joyous reunion, however it played out.
In six years, I question myself less, and question the world around me more.
In six years, I grew wrinkles and grey hair.
In six years, I’ve learnt to care less about them.
In six years, I’ve taken the steps you wanted me to take, and I’ve shied away from the ones I intrinsically felt were wrong for me, no matter how forced I felt I was. I learnt that resolve from you.
In six years, I stand tall. I stand proud, knowing the legacy and history you bestowed upon our family. I’ve got everything to be proud of.
In six years, I am more thankful to you than I ever have been.
In six years, I have learnt that I can miss you, and not have you be missing from my heart and head.
In six years, I can finally write you a letter and not cry. Well, at least not the big ugly cry. I can do it with some semblance of composure. It doesn’t mean it hurts less.
In six years…
In these six years that have gone by so very fast, I hope that you are proud of me.