A Difficult Day

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.  

That day three years ago is still clear in my mind.  It was an ordinary Tuesday at home for me.  Nine week old Grace had just gone down for her morning nap when I received a call checking to see whether I’d heard from my Dad as he couldn’t be contacted.  He had failed to drop past my Nanna’s after work the previous evening as he’d planned to and that morning, he still hadn’t called to check on her (a daily ritual for him).  I can remember that sick feeling in my stomach as I desperately tried to call his mobile and his home number over and over and over.  Nothing.  I called Paul at work to see if he’d spoken to Dad that morning.  He hadn’t.  Knowing things weren’t right, Paul raced home. 

And then I waited by the phone and cried and cried with worry. 

Not long after, I found out Dad had suffered a sudden heart attack.  He was fifty six.

My sister had been away down south at a workshop when Dad passed away.  My aunty and uncle made the five hour trip there to break the devastating news to her in person and bring her home.  I can’t imagine how difficult that five hour car ride must have been for her. 

I thought I’d share with you all today something that was said at my Dad’s funeral, something that I try to remember every single day and that I hope strikes a chord with some of you reading this post…

“Life is something we so often take for granted, it is something we assume.  But it is so fragile, just a moment in eternity.

Today is a reminder to us that we should live our own lives fully. 

Treasure each moment as though it could be your last. 

Let life challenge and encourage you.

Cherish those you love, tell them just how much you love them.

Life is still out there waiting to be lived.  Celebrate it and do things today; because life is too short to put off living until tomorrow.

If all you who knew Trevor can learn from his experience, if you can profit from his example, if you can live a little better for having known him, then this will give continuing purpose to his life and be a living memorial to him.”

Love you Dad and miss you more than ever.