Walking and Talking

This morning I got up, dragged y sorry ass out of bed, made a coffee and drank it. I got the kids off to where they needed to be when the bed beckoned me back. My mind set itself to 100% wallowing and I lay there, staring out the window.

It has been one year ago today that we lost our lovely step-dad/dad and for some reason, all of these memories were flying at me. Not the good stuff, but the cancer shit stuff. I had slept with my sisters in a bed next to him and told him that it was ok to go that night. Because we were there and we were not leaving. And in the early hours of the morning, he went.

So in my bed, I did wallow for about an hour. I refused to take any calls. I just wanted to be miserable and let my mind slide down the slippery slope into he depths of despair. This fog had been around for a couple of days now, and I was done. White flag up. All to hard and to sad. I didn’t want to write, which is my normal go-to therapy. I just wanted to bury my head under the doona covers and wish that they day would be over. Like yesterday. And possibly tomorrow. I am sure you have been there too.

But then I looked out the window and saw the glorious sunshine. Fuck this.

I scrambled around to put on some active-wear, grabbed my little dog and walked. And walked and walked and walked. The sun was shining, but it wasn’t too hot. And then I thought I would turn this walk into a Walk and Talk Tour. I popped into a lovely girlfriends place and had a little cry. We chewed the fat for a while, before I bid her farewell, so my tour could continue. Man, good girlfriends are just the greatest anecdote to the blues ever. Off I marched, up and down the hills. I turned a corner when headed to Mrs. Jenkin’s place when I felt a sharp pain in the ankle. Next minute, my cheek was passionately hugging the grass of the sidewalk.

“You alright love?” A man doing some gardening called out, having witnessed the whole spectacular scene. I gave hime a little wave before very un-elegantly propping myself back up into the position God intended. Upright. I tried not to show any pain but MAN, my ankle! Turned out that there was a small pothole in that path…

And poor little Isobel. She is only about 10cm high but she kept up with my cracking pace. Face getting redder. Arms pumping like a soldier, taking in great big breaths and expelling them from my chest. Walking and pumping and breathing and looking at gardens that I had never noticed before.

After an hour and a half of my “tour”, I headed home. I said hello to James, who is Horatio’s best mate and who is a permanent fixture at our place, and went to the bathroom to wash my sweaty face. And then, I stopped to look at a photo that Mum had given us all for Christmas. A family photo, which I have cropped for you.

Out off the dozens and dozens of shots taken on that day, it was this one that was selected. With my eyes shut, 25 kilos heavier and wearing my hair, well, I am not even sure what it was doing.

And for the first time, in a long time, I laughed.

  • Julie quirke

    I lost my dad in Feb 16 to cancer too. It takes a long time to forget about the dying and remember the wonderful times we shared but I am getting there. I now think of him and smile.

    Like you I got to be beside my dad and hold his hand and whisper in his ear. I asked him to come and get me when it was my turn. I would be there with my cats, but he better bring mum cos he never remembered what they looked like!!!


  • Heidi D

    sometimes the memories can be a real punch in the guts but then a happy memory will push its way in & bring a smile. Hope you find lots of smiles.

  • Anniversaries are always so tough, especially that first one. We don’t want to forget, but the remembering can hurt so much… I can’t tell you it will get easier, because it sort of doesn’t. It gets different. I lost my mother almost fourteen years ago. It still hurts. The hole is still there. There are days that the memories are so lovely, and others when they are really tough. Big hugs to you – sounds like getting out for that walk, ankle and all, was the best thing you could have done. xx

  • cilosophy.blogspot.com

    It’s ok to have a sad. You did the right thing – have a wallow then shake that shit off (I think Taylor Swift said it best).

    My ex husband has recently gotten in contact with me to tell me he has motor neurone disease. Our break up was relatively amicable and after the initial angst I only ever wished him the best, he is a good man, and his wife is nice. I saw him over the weekend for the first time in a few years and he is not good. I have been having some intermittent sads since (not full on bed-sads but still). One of our wedding songs was playing in a shop today and that brought the sads on.

  • Actual dates & lead up to them & then the afters.. so many memories .. your step Dad was and is so loved. Not everyone has that in their lives. You and your mum & family are in my thoughts .. and I hope your ankle is ok xxx

  • Claire

    Hugs to you. My Dad passed suddenly last July and dealing with all the first. The tidal wave of grief some days is awful. I love a good walk and talk. Normally do it once a week with one of my best friends. So good for the soul x