Giving Up.

Nothing else matters.
You see, I lost my Dad. A man never sick a day in his life diagnosed with cancer in his lungs, kidney and liver. Terminal. Such an ugly word. He passed away 10 days after his diagnosis. He was only 65.
I guess this is just a time for me to reflect and have a bit of a chat about some things in the hope that some people will take something away from it.
I wanted to give up. My Dad was gone and I felt like I could never feel joy again, the grief so consuming, so numbing the world around me was insignificant in all it's insignificance. I was bitter at everyone and how normal their lives were, I craved for that normal again while I was busy hoping the world would hurt as much as I did. This was just one of the many, many fazes of grief. A grief so palpable you can't see beyond it.
Peoples love through the initial hardships carry you through, much like the adrenalin coursing through your body, but when the dust settles people stop asking if you're okay? And they go on with their daily, normal lives because it is what must be done, that's life. It doesn't make the silence and the aftermath of loss any easier, but it's just what happens.
This is a life lesson at it's most brutal; a loss of a parent is a life education. It changes you. I look at pictures leading up to Dad's diagnoses and I feel envious of that girl, of me and the smile, the smile that was bright a genuine because all was well in the world. I had my dad, life was 'normal'.
Now he is gone, and now I must learn to live without him. No longer will he ring me every night of my life and talk about America, or how funny Colbert was tonight, or asks me how my book was going. Now the evenings are so quiet and going back to my childhood home clean up my Dad's life is so heartbreaking.  
Each day is different, some days I keep myself so busy I forget, and then of course I remember and it's like loosing him all over again. But there is one thing that drives me and that was his belief and pride in me and my work. About him wanting me to be happy and to keep going even though some days I don't want to get out of bed, those are the days I hear his voice cheering me on. 
I remember one of the lasts hugs I gave to my dad before leaving him in the hospital, never before had I melted into the soft fabric of his t-shirt, feeling the warmth and fragility underneath me. I memorised the feeling, lingering there never wanting to leave. But like always I kept my tears at bay, put on a brave smile and told him I loved him. It wasn't until I walked down the long-long corridor would I be able to break down, cry before my heart burst.
More than anything the one thing that keeps me going is the memory of how brave my dad was, never a word of complaint or a why me thought. He was witty and strong and brave till the very end, never have I ever been so proud or in awe of someone. If I carry an ounce of my dad's incredible qualities I know I will be okay.
Now all I do, and everything from here on in is for you Dad. I will keep writing, keep living and keep believing knowing that you are watching over me. So in a time when I questioned if I would ever feel joy again, all I can bet on is that time will offer me the strength to find it again. I wont give in!



R.I.P Dad 12.02.1949 - 29.4.2014