Today is the third anniversary of my Dad’s death. As this date rolls around each year, I find I’m worrying about the same thing… how to keep his memory alive in my mind. I don’t ever want to forget what his voice sounded like saying the words, “Hi love” as I opened the front door when he visited or the way his big hugs made me feel so loved. I want my girls to grow up knowing what a genuine man their Pop was, how proud he was of his family and how he would have adored them and showered them with affection.
I was never a ‘Daddy’s girl’ growing up. It was only after my teenage years that things changed for us. However, the one thing I take comfort in since his death, is knowing that our relationship in those last ten years was perfect. Dad would be in contact with us often, with not many days passing before he’d phone just to check on us, to message Paul asking, “how are my girls going?” or to stop by for a cuppa on his way home from work. He would attend every gig of my sister’s and every social sporting game of mine or Paul’s. He visited me at the maternity hospital every single day I was there when I had Grace. If he were still here today, he’d be reading every one of my blog posts just to show his support.