I think you’d be proud of me.
I mean, I know you’ve always been proud of me and of the business, and we’ve achieved so much more in the past 6 months. Our business has appeared in the paper and our video clip was finally aired on TV. We’ve done the same amount of business in the past 6 months as we did in our first 12 months of operation. We’ve made some (hopefully) smart marketing decisions and anticipate the next 6 months will be busy.
I’ve started exercising every weekday morning. Well, most. I took the plunge and signed up because I really like the trainers. It’s not a gym, per se, but we do a 30 minute session each morning, with an hour of yoga once a week. It’s challenging, but in the 8 weeks or so that I’ve been going I’ve noticed my arms and legs are starting to tone up. Even Matt’s mentioned it to me, so that’s pretty exciting. Still not close to the splits, though.
I think of you every single day. I miss picking up the phone and sending you a random text, or getting your opinion on a design, or having you create new ads or brochures for us (the last ones didn’t turn out remotely how we wanted them – grrr) or sitting on Skype just rambling for an hour. I miss your stories, your opinions, your laugh. I miss the random texts I would wake up to telling me that you could feel your fingernails growing. I struggle to believe that I’ll never be wrapped up in your hugs again, hearing you say in my ear “I love you, Boo.”
I wish you had been able to achieve everything you’d hoped for. The man of so many ideas and so little time, partially due to your incessant procrastination. When cleaning out your room I never found a passport application, which makes me think that even though you told me you were looking into it, it was still on your “to do” list. The “Tweb”, “Astaire’s”, the ratchet chair – I have your notebooks filled with these ideas and creations and notes. Some day I’d love to make some of them come to life in your honor.
I’m also angry. Why didn’t you go to the doctor? Why did you have to be so stubborn? Was it inevitable? Part of me wishes I’d paid for an autopsy, but another part was afraid I’d be angry at you forever. If it was pneumonia and could have been cleared with antibiotics, I may never have forgiven you. Was it your heart? What happened? I struggle not having the answers, and I feel guilty for not talking to you more that week because we were busy with mom and Dean visiting and I was going to send you a picture that morning when we were out in Surfers… I can’t cope with all the ”what ifs” so I try and remember that knowing the results won’t change anything. I try not to be angry.
People rarely ask me how I’m doing any more. Six months on and everyone has moved on with their lives, including, I suppose, me. There’s no way to stop everything and deal with grief, and it’s been one of the things to keep pushing me through. Don’t think too hard on the drive to Brisbane, otherwise your passengers will wonder why there’s mascara running down your face after the tears have dried. Keep working, keep focusing, keep busy.
The truth is, dad, you were such a huge part of me. You knew me better than anyone. For 34 years you were the one who I’d complain to, who I’d share triumphs with, who would listen to my doubts and fears and would let me unload when I was feeling stressed about Samara or work or when Matt was driving me crazy. The past six months has been like a swimmer losing a leg and learning how to balance themselves and continue forward. It can be done, but it’s clear there’s a piece missing. It’s been about relearning behaviour and trying to find some new coping techniques. Maybe that’s why the exercise has been so good for me; now I can focus on the training instead of curling into a mess of tears.
So there we are. A brief snapshot at 6 months. It’s surreal, it’s frustrating, it’s unbelievable. Matt’s been amazing but there’s no replacing the role you played in my life.
I’ll write more in the future.
PS Where in the world are your keys??