For John

 

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There are very few people, I suspect anyway, that can claim to have died in the same room that they were conceived in. But not my (step) Dad. We lost him yesterday, after a long battle with #fuckyoucancer.

This man. Where do I even begin to tell you about him. He began dating my Mum when I was really young. We all liked him immediately after a series of flashy dressed, uninterested-in-us-potential suitors. He had baggage in the shape of a young, timid blonde daughter, having been widowed only years before. A young, timid blonde who turned out to be one of the most fierce, intelligent and wonderful person ever. We totally took her into the gang without a second glance backwards. I finally had my younger sister. Little did I know that Mum and John were going to give me another one! #glee

He was from the right side of the tracks, and we were not. Mum was a small business owner, divorced (at the time we were called the kids from a “broken home”), community minded, standing up for the underdog type of chick that came with 3 kids, a dog, a cat, a guinea pig and two ponies. Obstinate ponies, that were unlike all the other expensive ponies at the local point club. Like, they would not agree to anything we asked them. Like getting on the fucking float.

“She would do better if she just applied herself.”

Ahhh.. the anthem of my youth! Every single report card from Year 5 till they day stopped grading me at the age of 21, that was the comment that I got. Apply myself? What the fuck does that even mean? I am 42 right now, and I still haven’t “applied myself”. What would I be capable of indeed I carried out such an act….

My John never doubted me. We had quiet conversations over the last 34 years where he told me, that despite the fact that I wasn’t the model pupil, or indeed the model child, that he always believed in me. This was good stuff for a buck toothed, coke bottled, whispy-haired gal to hear.

John never doubted me, yet he did question me. And the difference is enormous. He didn’t tell me what to do but he taught me about consequences. He forgave me, time and time again when I fucked up. That was the type of fella he was.

John died on Sunday morning. Or was it Saturday, or today. I don’t remember anymore. But he left this earth in the room that he was conceived on. And I was in that room when he went. What an honour. Hugged John when he was warm.

And for that, I will always be grateful.

We love you. And we miss you. You never gave up on me, and for that I shall forever be grateful. Know that you were, and will always be loved.

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