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One Year On.

I lost my dad a year ago today; I don't know where the time's gone. He's never far from my mind though. And nothing I do could have happened without him. Because, as he once poetically put it, "You can't even wipe your own arse". 

I'm inevitably feeling a little fragile. There's a dull, heavy ache in my body and the need to take things gently. Anniversaries seldom hold much weight for me as I know the date's arbitrary, but this one's a little different as it marks the first year gone. The first full cycle. And that's not easy to consider, however matter-of-fact I try to be.

I visited the cemetery today where he's buried, as I often do, and took my dog with me. It was probably due to the hot weather more than anything, but when we arrived at the grave, my dog sat down at the foot of it and made himself comfortable, chewing the grass. It seemed like a good idea, so I joined him (minus the grass bit). We sat there together, by my dad's stone, and took a moment to enjoy the peaceful surroundings. I know my dad would have loved to see the dog do that. He was one of the only things to brighten his mood during his last few weeks. And he helped me get through everything that followed. And my dad has too as I carry him with me, as I always will.

I still laugh about that arse-wiping comment nearly thirty years on. Love you, Dad.
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