There will always be hurdles

The thing with grief is there will always be hurdles to jump and big fences to negotiate. Do I go round or attempt to leap over, all the while hoping I don’t spectacularly trip and fall flat on my face!

Yesterday was Fathers’ Day, a day which creeps up and I am only slightly aware of, out of the corner of my eye, just there in my peripheral vision.

You can’t avoid the displays in the supermarkets but I walk past quickly. Although I still have a dad to buy for my boys don’t and I feel at odds with that fact.

The bottom line is it’s just not fair.

((I’m reminded at this point of an old blog post I wrote about a year after Andrew died for my unravelling-edges blog - “When There are no Words”))

My dad and I, without even a word will quietly acknowledge these kinds of days, neither of us wanting to upset the boys unduly.

However the truth is this year I really thought Fathers’ Day was next Sunday.

So when I texted my brother on Saturday to give him an idea of what to buy as a gift for dad for the following Sunday he send a message back…

“Fathers’ day is tomorrow!”

“Oh shit!” I texted back!

 

(sorry for the language but that was my honest reply and I can't lie!)

You see the thing is I had spoken to dad just that morning, only briefly because I really needed to wish mum a belated happy birthday for the day before – I am failing as a daughter on all counts here!!!

I had just about managed to get a card to her on the right date and I am so grateful to Amazon who delivered a parcel to her door on the actual day too!

The order for my dad I had sent to me with the intention of wrapping and posting it next week along with the card that sat in the drawer.

So the thought was always there and to be honest dad didn’t mind in the slightest. He told me with a chuckle when we did speak yesterday, “I thought it was next week too!”

I sometimes think they make far too many allowances for me, their little girl who lost her husband. 

Life is cruel and in an ideal world these things should never happen this way round.

I will always remember that hug my dad gave me after we had seen Andrew laid out in the coffin. All I needed was my dad to kiss it better and make the overwhelming pain go away. 

From having my own boys I know just how helpless you feel as a parent when there is absolutely nothing you can do and circumstances are way beyond your control.

 All he could do that day was hold me tight.

Ever since Andrew died my dad and I have grown a lot closer, not that we were ever distant but there has been a subtle shift in our relationship which moved again earlier this year when he was diagnosed with bowel cancer.

Thankfully it was operable and after major surgery he has been given the all clear.

Both of us took the pragmatic viewpoint that everything was always going to be OK from the start – we leave the worrying in the family to be done by my mum and brother!

But our phone conversations are noticeably longer these days, we talk more and say “I love you” far more frequently than ever before.

My dad is my hero but we will never be soppy about it, this is the Fathers’ Day card I sent him today.

  

As I said he had bowel cancer and “farting” after having half your bowel removed is a big deal! I was actually there visiting him in the hospital when he let the first one out and even the nurses cheered!

There will always be hurdles to face on this journey but hopefully my dad will be around for a long time yet to hold my hand as I negotiate them. And maybe on occasion I can hold his too.

In the grand scheme of things forgetting to send him a card on the correct day is immaterial because he truly understands better than anyone that he is special to me today,  any day, every day and always.  xx

Musketeer Madness and Finding a Hero

Over the last few weeks I have been captivated by the new BBC One drama the Musketeers. I have been swept up in the adventure and romantic tales. And I’ve fallen in love with the scenery, the storytelling and…. who am I trying to kid I fallen in love with the Musketeers – all of them, it took me a few weeks to figure out my absolute favourite but I’m not telling you here!

my current laptop desktop pic :-)

I also love it because it’s something we can watch together as a family. Often programmes are just a bit too rude or adult for youngest son, or too dull for oldest son to watch.

Oldest son has even lost interest in Dr Who and never even bothered watching Atlantis with us (or Merlin underwater as I renamed it – although the plots never seem to be set by the sea – didn’t Patrick Duffy have flippers and gills when he lived there or does my memory just stretch back a bit too far – I hope someone out there is keeping up with me!) 

We do watch Sherlock all together but I am sure much of that goes over both their heads. I found the wedding episode hilarious; they looked at me bemused. But with only three episodes in a row it’s over almost as soon as it’s begun.

The Musketeers has been on for ten glorious weeks – it’s the last one tomorrow and then what shall we do?

Youngest son does groan when there’s a lovey dovey scene and pulls a blanket over his head as he snuggles in beside me in his PJs ready for bed, his action makes me smile but he sits up again fully engaged in watching the fight scenes. Oldest son meanwhile has commandeered the other sofa and usually the remotes are stuffed behind a cushion nearby. “Turn it up a bit!” I call across the coffee table not wanting to miss a thing.

I just sometimes wish it wasn’t on quite so late on a Sunday evening when it’s school the next day but then again I do delight every Monday morning in discussing every detail with my best friend when we are out for our Monday morning walk.

There are scenes I can recite line by line which make me smile and some which have touched my heart.

“Anyone can tell a woman she is beautiful,” states Aramis, “But making her believe it is where the genius lies.”

Oh so true – I’m not sure I’ve ever truly believed than one – well maybe once but it seems like a dream it was so long ago.

And then there was Porthos falling in love with the beautiful widow Alice Clerbeaux , “A year is a long time without a kiss.” He says tenderly.

I melted, “…and three years is almost intolerable.” I desperately wanted to whisper back. But no one hears me.

Where’s a Musketeer when you really need one?

Despite their obvious character flaws we love them as heroes and I’d be happy for any one of them to sweep me off my feet and rescue me. But considering I am old enough to be d'Artagnan's mother and they are all fictional anyway it seems unlikely - Musketeer Madness!

But last week there was a very different scene that didn’t just make my heart flutter but caused my soul to sing.

Athos and Aramis were holed up in a convent protecting the queen. Things are looking bleak and desperate.

The mother superior asks Athos if there is anything she can do to help protect her convent in the coming battle.

“Can you load a pistol?”

Taking the weapon from him she begins to recite “Blessed be the Lord my God,” all the while expertly continuing with the task in hand, “who teaches my hands to fight and my fingers to battle. Psalm 144.”

Even though Athos’s smile barely touches his lips you can see it in his eyes – he is impressed!

Meanwhile I am smiling broadly on the sofa. We had read that very same psalm that week in a prayer meeting. There is something very special about hearing the word of God. It really is like “honey to my soul”.

I looked it up in the Message this week, a paraphrased version of the Bible with imagery that often challenges and inspires me. These verses were no exception…

Blessed be God my mountain

Who trains me to fight fair and well

He’s the bedrock on which I stand,

The castle in which I live

My rescuing knight

The high crag where I run for dear life

While he lays my enemies low.

Can you guess my favourite line? 

God is my “rescuing knight”! 

This is the language of romance and adventure I love so much.

I may have spent the last ten weeks daydreaming, getting distracted and yes I’m not really sure what to do when there’s no Musketeers to watch on a Sunday night but it’s reassuring to remember that there is a hero who will always be around and his words will draw me in every time.

God is my hero – maybe a little bit like a musketeer but actually a whole lot better! And He will be around long after this Musketeer Madness has ended!

Holding out for a Hero

I have always been a girl to get carried away.  It doesn’t take a great deal for my imagination to run riot and I have been oh so easily distracted recently as regular readers will know.

However I came to the realisation late last night that the man I have been emailing on eHarmony is the not the one for me.

I had over embellished his personality to suit my own desires.

He is interested cars – my car knowledge comes from watching Top Gear and I am mostly interested in James May and what colour shirt he is wearing this week!

We are sadly not as compatible as I made out. I was just flattered by the male attention.

He did say he was a geek but after a little bit of time on google, looking up a band he used to play in, I found his own personal website and for want of a better word I found it a little dull.

I am a girl with lots of sparkle and as I texted a friend

“I want a man with Omph.”

“Zero miles per hour?  No you need Umph!”

I think I may have just learned the difference – I hope I wasn’t cruel in my last ever email to him!

Meanwhile Simon Mayo played Bonnie Tyler “Holding out for a Hero” to start his show last night.  We were sitting down to tea.

“Will you be my hero?” I asked youngest son.

“Yes, but not a superhero. I can’t fly and stuff.”  Was his matter-of-fact reply.

So while I wait for my knight with shining umph to ride into town at least I have a hero by my side.

What more can a girl ask for?