Feelings on Father’s Day

How am I doing this year?
I’ve been thinking about Dad extra amounts this week. More has reminded me of him. I’ve felt quieter and more subdued. I’ve been nervous about how today would be. 

This morning I’m trying to keep busy, but also keep in mind the knowledge that I can still celebrate Fathers Day. I have a wonderful Dad, that in twenty six years with me, gave me a wonderful childhood, advice and so much love. 

Looking forward, this time next year, we will be celebrating Father’s Day in a different way. We will be parents, caring for our gorgeous little boy or girl. A child far less fortunate than myself, in regards to parenting. Jim will step into that role. He will be wonderful. He is so much like my own Dad. 

Please don’t feel sorry for me, or any other grieving children today. Just promise me you will spend time with your own Dad’s while you still have the chance.

The same black dress

 

I didn’t think yesterday would hurt as much as it did.

But it’s still so soon. It seems like only a fortnight ago we had the whole family round for my Dad, and now this.

I woke up in the morning with a huge knot in my stomach. With gritted teeth, I put the same black dress on I had worn last summer. I painted on war paint. Heavy makeup so I couldn’t cry. Nothing could pass through my mascara. Like filling a hole. Like glueing my insides shut. Nothing would get in, nothing could seep out.

I got in the car.

I told Jim that I wasn’t going to cry. I was determined for this not to get under my skin. Not to reach me. I would build a wall where no emotion could pass. Self preservation at it’s finest. I didn’t take tissues in with me. I didn’t need them.

I sat through the Crematorium part of the ceremony. I was in a daze. My mind kept drifting away. I wasn’t concentrating on the words or what was in front of me. Like it wasn’t really happening. I stood up and walked away. I gave no-one eye contact. I refused to let them in.

I kept moving, flitting from one group to the next. Avoiding small talk, questions and conversation without looking alone. All a tactical ploy. All part of the plan. I swerved conversation to happy things and I dodged the curve balls.

It was working. My mascara hadn’t moved. I felt in control. Now onto the church.

I opened the order of service.

It hit me.

The same song. The same song as last summer. Sitting right there. How could I possibly sing that? How could I hear others sing that? I flicked through the pages to find other songs repeated. How could I get through this? I felt like I had been set up.

I decided I wouldn’t sing. I would stand crossed armed and closed mouthed. I would let the words pass over my head and then sit back down. no one would even know.

The organ introduced the first few chords.

My throat felt like it was going to burst. A single tear leaked onto my right cheek. I didn’t wipe it away. I just felt it trickle down my skin.

But then more started seeping out. This time from both eyes. I closed them shut and leaned into Jim. I felt my shoulders shaking and my fists tighten.

I lost it.

I cried more than I had since my Dad was diagnosed fifteen months ago.

All of my anger and sadness and confusion and frustration poured out of my body.

My sister passed me her tissue.

Why was I crying? I was so angry at myself. I wanted to be strong. I thought I could do it.

 

My eyes kept leaking right into the evening.

I was a mess.

Over nothing and over what happened then and now and everything.

I couldn’t even put into words why I was so overwhelmingly sad. Only that everything I had been holding in all this time was bubbling up and I couldn’t stop it.

 

 

It was lovely though. The day. Everyone being together.

 

I finally got home, slipped off my black dress.

And went to sleep.

 

I am feeling more myself today. I think I still have more to let out.

But that can wait for another day.

My Perfect Home

My home is tidy and clean.

The washing basket has a quick turn over, the kitchen sides are clear and my fridge door is magnet free.

Art on the walls have been carefully chosen, the walls are freshly painted and I have quirky little nicknacks placed ‘just so’ on my shelves.

Our TV stays on channels we want to watch, we can be spontaneous with our weekend and our night’s sleep is forever long.

This all sounds lovely right?

Like a 5***** place to stay right?

It is beautiful, but it is empty.

 

My home is empty.

You know, I would give it all up tomorrow for handprints on the cupboard doors, splashes up the bathroom walls, and questionable art displayed on the fridge.

For a washing basket full of muddy football kits and an empty fridge and freezer.

To replace the nicknacks for nappies.

BBC for CBeebies

Date nights with nights in

Long nights, with regular coffee breaks and bags under my eyes

 

My house would buzz with playful chaos.

 

 

I know what you ‘already parents’ are thinking ‘you’re just saying that because you haven’t got it yet’ , ‘just you wait!’, ‘enjoy it while you’ve got it’.

and I know you are right

but knowing it doesn’t fill the quietness.

 

 

you know?

 

All I’m doing is focusing on September.

In will bounce a busy little thing with their own chaos and I just want to soak it all up.

Im trying hard to enjoy the quiet while I have it. Im just excited.

you know?

 

 

Ten things I can’t do

So in the past week a few of you have commented

Is there anything you can’t do?”

I thought that was funny.

Of course there are loads of things I can’t do. I just don’t share my flaws and fails on social media, well not all of them anyway.

To be honest I’m a Jack of all trades, but a master of none.

So just to prove I am in fact an actual human I have listed ten things I can not do.

Enjoy 😂

 

ONE          I can not for the life of me play an F on guitar. My little finger just will not reach and I am really annoyed about it.

TWO        I can not answer the phone without giving myself a major pep-talk first, even if it is a close family member or my best friend. Sometimes the pep-talk works, and sometimes it doesn’t so Jim answers the phone for me.

THREE     I can not spell. Honestly. I think I have to be the worst non-dyslexic primary school teacher speller in the world. I rely on spell check.      always.

FOUR       I can not go a day without social media. I’m obsessed. It’s not good.

FIVE         I can not be a proper Vegetarian, however hard I try. It’s McDonalds. It’s my down fall.

SIX           I can not wait. I need to do everything 5 minutes ago. My mind flits from one thing to the next, projects rarely get finished around here.

SEVEN    I can not feel true sympathy for others. I fake it really well. And I know normal me would genuinely care. Sometimes I do. But it’s just hard right now.

EIGHT    I can not read and finish a novel. Well I’ve maybe finished two books in my life, and they were teen fiction. I enjoy books but usually choose podcasts or audiobooks instead.

NINE       I can not sleep if anything in my bedtime routine changes. 

TEN.        I can not try new foods without major preparation for a whole day before.

I am human.

I just only share the good.

Mostly.

Now you know ❤️

One Year

So this little blog of mine is a whole year old.

I started it so I could sort out my feelings of things happening in my life at the time.

It has seriously been so useful to me.

When hearing of my Dad’s diagnosis, I didn’t know how I felt about anything. Everything was up in the air. I would flit from one emotion to the next. I needed something concrete to set my feelings onto. If I wrote them down they would become truth as I felt it in each moment.

And so ‘indigo_hart’ was born.

By writing and sharing I have frozen in time one of the most significant years of my life.

Everything I felt and thought is here. I can go back and read them anytime, and I often do.

It’s a way of checking how I am progressing on coping with living life and death.

It has also been doubly useful as it has been a way of sharing with all that wanted to know how I am doing without them having to ask me. It keeps people at a safe distance. You don’t need to ask and I don’t need to tell.

I like that I don’t have to say my thoughts out loud and yet everyone around me just knows, they totally get where I am at.

It has kept emotional injuries to a minimum. It has kept me in control.

I think that’s it.

This blog brings order and control into a situation I have no control over.

 

So it’s been a year. It’s been an incredible, catastrophic, terrifying and daunting year.

But, life’s challenges do not stop here.

Life keeps rolling,

as will this blog.

 

Mummy’s Day

Happy Mother’s Day to all of the incredible Mothers out there. You do a relentless job and are incredible. I watch your love for your children. I can see you love them so much it hurts. I can see the excitement and joy in your eyes when they learn something new. I can see that your child loves you by the way they look at you too, by the way they need you and follow you. I can see that when they push you away you only hold closer. You fight for them. You work for them. You change your body for them. You change your life for them. They are your first thought when you wake and your last when you go to sleep. You are amazing. Thank you.

Saying Goodbye

It wasn’t as hard to leave as I thought it could be.

During my last two visits I have known my Mum has to sell our lovely holiday house in the alps.

it has been our holiday destination for the past 12 years. It holds so many memories for us.

but as I walk through the house, I remember it is just concrete, wood and plaster. There are no memories stored away under the beds. They are in my head. I can take them anywhere with me.

I feel much closer to my Dad there, I can’t help but think about him. Imagine him soaking in the sun on the balcony or getting giddy at the pizza restaurant. I need to remind myself that these are all memories, that are too precious to sell. I still have all of them in my head at all times. Photos and videos will help me remember.

Now it’s time to start a new adventure. In fresh and exciting places. Exotic places.

I am grateful that my Dad made the decision to sell the house upon diagnosis. It takes some of the pressure off of Mum. 

The decision to buy the house was lead by him, and so was the decision to sell.

I am so proud of Mum. 
You can find my short film of Saying Goodbye [in a minute] over on my YouTube channel.  

Click here to go to the video.