DAY 18

Today I am grateful for: my Dad

Fred Moes. 1954 - 2004

Today would have been my dad’s 56th birthday. If he hadn’t been taken by cancer over 5 years ago we would probably be gathered at my parents place for dinner tonight. Mum would cook dad’s favorite dinner and we would sit around and laugh, talking about our lives, our families, the grandchildren, my latest dating fiasco and so many more things.

I am grateful that I had my dad in my life for 24 years. I am blessed to be one of the lucky ones who grew up in a stable, Christ centered home with parents who loved us kids and each other endlessly. I don’t seem to have gained much of Dad in the genetic lottery – he was a wise, fun-loving man who cared deeply for those who struggled with life. Dad worked hard to provide for us. He taught us kids the importance of family. He loved babies and children and yet sadly never met his own grandchildren.

I wish I was more like him - but my siblings seem to have gained more of his attributes than me. I am like my maternal grandmother whether I like it or not.

I’ve been trying to think of my favorite memory of Dad. I think it is the expression he would get on his face when he was up to no good. In the left picture you can see him with a glimmer in his eye - I think this was his ‘mischievous thinking’ pose. Dad loved to push my buttons until I exploded. He said he couldn’t help it – I was an easy target and I would bite every time. At least I was consistent.

The thing that frightens me most is that I am beginning to forget him. The tide of my mind has washed over the memories so they are beginning to fade. I regret that there are no photos of just dad and I together - as the nominated photographer of the family I was always behind the camera and not in front of it. I have vowed to remedy this in the future. When (not if) faced with loss again I will have tangible proof that we existed together.

I didn’t expect to feel sad today, but I did. I was sitting at my desk typing away with tears rolling down my face; desperately hoping one of my colleagues didn’t walk in and witness my moment of fragility. I don’t think grief ever goes away – it just sleeps, ready to awaken on those few days when you can’t help but remember what has been lost.

When reading 'eat, pray' love' last year I came across a passage about grief and it really spoke to my heart about the forest of sadness I lived in. I have included the passage below.

Happy Birthday Dad. I wish you were here.

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Grief is a place. I have been there.

In English we sometimes say "I've been there". I explained that deep grief sometimes is almost like a specific location, a coordinate on a map of time. When you are standing in that forest of sorrow you cannot imagine that you could ever find your way to a better place. But if someone can assure you that they themselves have stood in that same place, and now have moved on, sometimes this will bring hope.

"so sadness is a place?"

"sometimes people live there for years".

Italians say "L'ho provatosulla mia pelle", which means "I have experienced that on my own skin" meaning I have also been burned or scarred in this way, and I know exactly what you are going through.

From "eat, pray, love" by Elizabeth Gilbert

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