“I love you Dada!” followed by a big bear hug.
Erin and I had been watching Mary Poppins on a cold October Sunday afternoon last year. It had been her afternoon to do as she chose. Cameron was off playing baseball with friends, and Elizabeth had left for a meeting in Victoria. So Erin had been given free reign. “Popcorn and Mary Poppins” was the verdict, the food always coming first. We snuggled up to watch as Mary Poppins floated down from the sky, we sang along to chim-chimney and talked high finance as the children decided what to do with their pennies. As the movie ended I got the hug and love message, all part of a perfect afternoon.
It was unusual for Erin to show affection like this. Her preferred form was a head butt or a punch in the tummy. Kissing her goodbye when I dropped her at PJ before-school care involved a race from the car to the classroom (“race ya”), then hugging her tightly to swing her feet up as high above my head as she could, and finally a head butt as I tried to sneak a kiss in. I managed to get quite good at getting a kiss before she could get out of the way! Another sign of affection she had started was the habit of handing out a well-aimed punch to the stomach each time she saw a “TD” sign, advert or bank, while merrily proclaiming “TD!”. I almost developed a nervous twitch while we were in Toronto where TD is as common as Starbucks is in Vancouver.
June 21 is Father’s Day. Tomorrow will be exactly six months since Erin trotted off happily to take hike, and never came back. December 22.
When I noticed that the days and dates in June 2015 are exactly the same as they were in December 2014, I began to re-live the last three weeks that Erin was with us. Each evening over dinner we recall the events of that day and date 6 months previously to try to recapture in some way the magic we had experienced. Monday, June 1…what did we do on Monday, December 1? Some days were easy, some days we had to rack our brains to remember, but each day had something special in it. Suddenly those 21 days grow in significance – they had been ordinary at the time; now they are golden.
Remembering is simultaneously pleasurable and painful as we are reminded of what we had, and of what we have lost. A trip to Hong Kong had been part of those 21 days and, while there, I noticed a large building, hollowed out to maximise its Feng Shui benefits, a building that has become an epitome of how I feel right now. Without Erin, my bubble of joy, I feel hollow in my core as if my middle has been removed. The rest of me surrounds that empty hollowness and holds me together. I eat, breathe, live… but am not whole. I work, run and play … but am not complete. Our dear friend’s son who lost his father put it beautifully when he told us “I have a hole in my heart. Each year the hole gets one inch smaller and when I am one hundred I will be healed.” The hollowness in my core does not yet seem to get any smaller, maybe because it is so big, maybe because it is so fresh.
So I approach Father’s Day with trepidation. There is so much to look back upon that brings great joy, as portrayed in my video ‘Seven years and eleven months of pure joy’ http://youtu.be/wm08fCxWrzg. The memory of these ordinary moments are all I have now to experience what it was to be the father of my daughter. On one side of remembering there is intense pleasure and on the other side lies intense pain for what has been lost. Sandwiched between lies the hollowness of intense grief.
What would Erin have us do today? Live in the moment, with friends, family and community, while being a trailblazer true to yourself. She would say that every day is Father’s Day, a day for dads to be close to their kids, and for kids to be appreciative of their dads. She would say that every day is an ordinary day that could be transformed to be something wonderfully special.
Happy Father's Day!
Erin and I had been watching Mary Poppins on a cold October Sunday afternoon last year. It had been her afternoon to do as she chose. Cameron was off playing baseball with friends, and Elizabeth had left for a meeting in Victoria. So Erin had been given free reign. “Popcorn and Mary Poppins” was the verdict, the food always coming first. We snuggled up to watch as Mary Poppins floated down from the sky, we sang along to chim-chimney and talked high finance as the children decided what to do with their pennies. As the movie ended I got the hug and love message, all part of a perfect afternoon.
It was unusual for Erin to show affection like this. Her preferred form was a head butt or a punch in the tummy. Kissing her goodbye when I dropped her at PJ before-school care involved a race from the car to the classroom (“race ya”), then hugging her tightly to swing her feet up as high above my head as she could, and finally a head butt as I tried to sneak a kiss in. I managed to get quite good at getting a kiss before she could get out of the way! Another sign of affection she had started was the habit of handing out a well-aimed punch to the stomach each time she saw a “TD” sign, advert or bank, while merrily proclaiming “TD!”. I almost developed a nervous twitch while we were in Toronto where TD is as common as Starbucks is in Vancouver.
June 21 is Father’s Day. Tomorrow will be exactly six months since Erin trotted off happily to take hike, and never came back. December 22.
When I noticed that the days and dates in June 2015 are exactly the same as they were in December 2014, I began to re-live the last three weeks that Erin was with us. Each evening over dinner we recall the events of that day and date 6 months previously to try to recapture in some way the magic we had experienced. Monday, June 1…what did we do on Monday, December 1? Some days were easy, some days we had to rack our brains to remember, but each day had something special in it. Suddenly those 21 days grow in significance – they had been ordinary at the time; now they are golden.
Remembering is simultaneously pleasurable and painful as we are reminded of what we had, and of what we have lost. A trip to Hong Kong had been part of those 21 days and, while there, I noticed a large building, hollowed out to maximise its Feng Shui benefits, a building that has become an epitome of how I feel right now. Without Erin, my bubble of joy, I feel hollow in my core as if my middle has been removed. The rest of me surrounds that empty hollowness and holds me together. I eat, breathe, live… but am not whole. I work, run and play … but am not complete. Our dear friend’s son who lost his father put it beautifully when he told us “I have a hole in my heart. Each year the hole gets one inch smaller and when I am one hundred I will be healed.” The hollowness in my core does not yet seem to get any smaller, maybe because it is so big, maybe because it is so fresh.
So I approach Father’s Day with trepidation. There is so much to look back upon that brings great joy, as portrayed in my video ‘Seven years and eleven months of pure joy’ http://youtu.be/wm08fCxWrzg. The memory of these ordinary moments are all I have now to experience what it was to be the father of my daughter. On one side of remembering there is intense pleasure and on the other side lies intense pain for what has been lost. Sandwiched between lies the hollowness of intense grief.
What would Erin have us do today? Live in the moment, with friends, family and community, while being a trailblazer true to yourself. She would say that every day is Father’s Day, a day for dads to be close to their kids, and for kids to be appreciative of their dads. She would say that every day is an ordinary day that could be transformed to be something wonderfully special.
Happy Father's Day!