Time is strange, isn't it? I remember being a kid and how the days between the weekends seemed to go on for
ever and the time between birthdays was an
eternity.
Then you get older and suddenly you're looking around going, huh? Where'd all the time go? It's Sunday already? Wait, it's
August already?
One year ago today,
my dad died.
It still feels a bit strange to type that. It still feels strange to think he's really gone. For the last few years we weren't able to see each other in person very often. We lived about an hour apart and between my ill health, his ill health and various transport issues, we could go months without seeing each other.
So not seeing him wasn't so different at first. But we always spoke on the phone at least twice a week, even if the conversation was essentially:
'Anything new to report?'
'Hmm, no, how about yourself?'
'Nothing new here.'
'We're a bit boring aren't we?'
'Just a bit.'
(We had that conversation a lot.)
For a while after he died, whenever the phone would ring about 6p.m. I'd have this split-second thought of 'Oh, that'll be Dad.' It would only last a second but it was a habit of years. I just realised I don't have that thought anymore.
Not long after he died, Christchurch was hit by the first earthquake. He lived in Australia for over forty years but Christchurch was his childhood home and most of his relatives still live there. I read an article yesterday about the damage from the quake and the rebuilding or lack thereof and I wonder, if I do get to visit there one day, will it look anything like the place where Dad grew up?
My brother's second child was born in February and is going to be christened next month. His middle name is Dad's name.
Today was just ... a day. Is it supposed to feel different to other days?