It Has Been Ten Months

Dad - some thoughts written over the tenth month without you

It’s a fact that I will be sad for the rest of my life. 

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I read that there’s no wrong way to grieve, that we’re all different, so why do I so often feel like I’m not grieving properly, or at least not grieving conveniently?

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Not being able to say goodbye to you is so hard. 

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I feel like I’m shit at everything. Autistic burnout? Grief paralysis? Exhaustion? I don’t know. But I just can’t do anything. 

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I discovered a list I wrote. I had forgotten about it. I started writing it the night you died. A list of things I remembered about you. I was scared about forgetting. I forgot about the list, but I haven’t forgotten a single one of the things I wrote down. How could I?

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We have instigated a monthly quiz night (or afternoon), where we each write a round. It’s become something I look forward to. I don’t really look forward to anything anymore, so this is a good thing. We had so much fun at quizzes over the years. We won nearly every quiz we entered! I was always in awe of how much you knew. Maybe I can train up the kids this way to be a good quiz team. 

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A butterfly landed on me. That’s never happened before. It crept onto my finger. Just sat there, resting, wings gently quivering. “Hello Dad,” I whispered. A good few minutes we sat there together. 

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Some days it’s like I have no emotions at all. I’m just an empty golem, an automaton going through the motions, pretending to be a person. I wish I could be better at this. 

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Made your tuna pizza for lunch today, with the anchovies. Everyone ate it. I didn’t tell them about the anchovies until after they told me they’d enjoyed it. 

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Miranda and Mum went with the usual crowd to see Middlesbrough ladies play. Boro lost, of course. They took your hat and your scarf. They all miss you. 

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I’ve made a fruit cake for your birthday. You were a man who appreciated a fruit cake. Must be where I got my love for it from. I remember learning how to make Christmas cakes with you. Using a straw to feed them. Precious memories. 

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Chris is going away on business. I get so much more anxious about that now. I’m scared without him. I’m scared knowing that you’re not around.

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I’m scraping the barrel a little with this photo of us together. It’s a still from a video cousin Allan took on our trip to Turkey. This was at Istanbul airport, I think. You can see how much I look like you. 

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Ten months without your twinkly eyes. You were stolen from us. Every time I remember that you would have lived if the hospital had cared about you and for you, it’s like another crack in my heart. Sure, they can treat your case as a learning opportunity and hopefully no one else will go through this heartache, but that doesn’t change anything for us. You’re still not here.

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