It’s almost the end of March. A bittersweet month for me, really.
See, three years ago, we brought home our little Scottie darlings – in the beginning of March. We also attended out last family event as a unit. By the end of March, my dad was sick and bedridden. All the feels. And all the Facebook memories popping up aren’t helping.
From the last brunch we had as a family; after the last wedding we attended as family, to homing two gorgeous Scottie furballs of awesome.
We were seeing my dad’s life deteriorating before our eyes.
See, the one day he still went to work, felt ill and collapsed as soon as he reached home. From there he went to the hospital and life was never really the same after that. We arrived the Friday he was discharged – he could still walk and talk. And by the Sunday, he couldn’t walk or speak. I still remember the last meal I cooked for him. And I should probably cook it now again – it has been three years since… but I don’t know if I could handle it.
I don’t know why the memories are this vivid in 2017. It wasn’t like this in 2016. All I know is that I miss him terribly, And I really wish I could just tell him what I’ve been up to lately…
Things my dad never saw us do:
- We bought a house. I told him this while he was bedridden – that we had put in an offer, and we were hoping to get the financing for the house. But he never saw us move in. Or saw the house we bought.
- He never drove my new car. I don’t know why, as I had bought it before he fell really ill. The car isn’t even new anymore. But it’s still something that bugs me.
- He never saw the puppies grow up. They met him once, the weekend he fell ill. And that was it. After that, he wasn’t able to recognise them. Or us.
- I’ve changed jobs after more than 8 years. A sudden move, some people say. I won’t say that he’d approve of my move entirely, but he’d have given me some sage advice. He was always my voice of reason. And I miss that.
- He’d be proud of me exercising and taking it seriously. He’d always been active. And he’d really appreciate this move.
All I know is, I miss him. I miss chatting to him regularly. Hearing his voice. I don’t feel his presence. My siblings do. But I don’t. And in some ways, this really bugs me. Even though it shouldn’t. But it does.
So, hey March. It’s been real. More real than it’s been in a while.