Wednesday, 27 March 2013

Blog 54 (13) I had forgotten...

Blog 54 (13) I had forgotten…

No I have not forgotten about you my dear, loyal readers…even though it has been so long since my last blog…what I have forgotten is the excruciating pain that losing a parent causes…without any hints or warnings my father passed away…gone…forever…without a last goodbye or kiss… just suddenly one day in February...this dreadful shock doesn’t seem to leave me…the sadness that after all these years he was alone at what must have been a frightening time for him will linger with me…yes I had truly forgotten the actual physical pain… the sadness…the lying awake at night and the crying until the early morning…I had forgotten about the need to weep silently in the shower and pretend to the outside world that I am okay; that yes this is life and that yes we will recover but it has been such a long time ago that I lost my mother and my 'big sister' that I think I had become complacent…almost as if we would never be touched with such deep sadness again…it has brought me sharply back into the real world and the fragility of our lives…here today…gone tomorrow… I had forgotten how hard it is to face each new day knowing that I will never see his smile or hear his voice again…I had forgotten how much it hurts to lose a link with loved ones and now he is gone the final link with my mother and all his memories are gone too...

Do not judge me for writing a blog… I just needed to do something in these dark, tear filled days of regret and guilt that I had taken my eye off my father whilst dealing with plumbers, leaks and floods; absent kitchen fitters…you name it we are still stuck in the middle of such a bomb site once again…and whilst I was self-absorbed in wedding preparations and all things petty to do with the house…I didn’t notice if there were any signs that my father would just simply die one morning whilst I was out shopping for a hat… I wasn’t there for him like I had been so many times before over the years…and no matter what people say to me this hurts…this is hard…this is quite basically… shite…

I know from experience that one day I will be able to talk freely again about him, one day I will be able to laugh at all the funny times we had…but for now...for today here is a little piece I had written a while ago…not for my blog…just something I was writing…

In all fairy tales…there’s a beautiful young princess and a handsome young prince and they fall in love at the first sight of each other from across the ballroom…in the early 50’s it was fashionable to go to the local Church hall once a week for a dance and a non-alcoholic drink. Where the young ladies would sit around the edge of the dance floor talking about the latest fashion whilst trying to eye up the competition as well as the talent and the young men would exhaust all conversations about football in an effort to appear aloof, making them more desirable [in their eyes at least!]

Picture night in December 1950 as the music played on in one of these church halls two dashing young Irishmen entered, suntanned, dressed in silk shirts and soft cashmere suits handmade by a Jewish tailor in New York. Both had just alighted their Merchant Navy ship in Liverpool and were on route to stay over with a friend. The pulse of the music and the draw of the young ladies had been too much to ignore and so they had popped in on the off chance of an evening’s light entertainment. Spotted by a group of the young ladies one of the Irish sailors decided to home in on the positive vibes he was picking up and so with a smile, a slick back of his quiff, a slight swagger in his stance, he made his way across the dance floor to the group, with every intention of asking the extremely attractive dark haired girl if she would like to dance.

One of the other young ladies spotted him; she was dressed in her old familiar blouse and skirt, nipped in at the waist with a belt and a small brooch on the lacy collar. She was uncomfortable, being reluctant to attend the Christmas dance and had really only come to keep her friend company instead of staying in the comfort of her own home and listening to the radio with her brothers. She looked up and smiled briefly, noticing his gaze was on her friend and that her friend was freshening up her lip stick in preparation. Great! She was now going to be the wall flower again whilst her friend was whisked around the dance floor by this extremely handsome young man with bright, piercing blue eyes…

However, having seen the preening in advance of his invitation to dance, the young man was pompous enough to ignore the dark haired beauty and ask her timid looking friend instead:

“Hello, would you like to dance?”

“Er, don’t you mean my friend?”

“No, I’m asking you to dance.”

“Oh, I can’t dance.”

“I’ll teach you.”

He took her hands and led her to the dance floor, placing his arm around her waist and pulling her to him: he knew then that this was the girl he would marry.She knew that this was the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with...

If you haven’t already guessed…the Irish Sailor is my dad and the timid wall flower is my mum. Oh, and the dark haired beauty is my godmother…

Rest in peace dad…reunited with the only woman you ever truly loved…xox

Blog 54 (13)


1 comment:

  1. Grainne, that is so beautiful and so sad. You have such a way with words. You're right about the physical pain of bereavement - it's so strong, and the shower crying, oh how I have wept in showers.
    There is something so terrible about being an orphan, like losing your place in the scheme of things, and your link to the past. This time is almost too dreadful for words, let yourself grieve.
    But I see your Mum and Dad and the cousins of my youth in the beautiful young people of the next generation. And when you are ready for it, there will be hope and laughter.

    Much love