Happily Imperfect

It would’ve been my Dad’s birthday yesterday, he would’ve been 79.

I didn’t post about it yesterday, more by happenstance than planning, but I did think about him and one thing struck me. I think more about my Dad on any given day than I do about my Mum or my sister.

Now, I’m not attributing scores nor logging time spent or any other quantifiable means for this but it only really struck me last night. I was lying in bed reading a book but couldn’t really focus on it as the scene I was reading happened to be a daughter reunited with her father after a few months apart. My Dad passed 5 years ago but I realised that if I had one choice to make, it would be to bring him back for a day (a la Ian and Barley, and yes my social constructs are largely focussed around my son’s Pixar movie watching preferences).

Being the over thinker I can be (I know, dear reader, I can tell you are shocked!) I immediately started questioning what that meant for how I think about my Mum and my sister, how I’ve been processing their grief. It’s not that I loved them less although the shape of that love is very different.

Now I realise this seems very obvious but perhaps it’s because Dad never met Jack, never saw me as a father and, well, I just wish the two of them had been able to meet. If Jack thinks his Daddy is a silly billy then I think meeting his Grandfather may have blown his mind!

I have no illusion that if Dad were here he would’ve suddenly started offering me advice and wisdom, that wasn’t his way, but I at least think he would’ve been happy to see all the love and care he gave me is being passed on twofold (if not three).

Passing anniversaries are strange things. Reflecting on all the missed experiences with those who have departed is natural and, for me at least, often brings up additional thoughts on everyone else who has left us far too soon.

So it’s not that my Mum and especially my sister don’t loom large in my mind everyday, but the recency of their passing makes it different. My grief for them is still sharp and jaggy, and can be difficult to hold at times. Thoughts of them puncture me rather than slide into my mind with a softness.

I got thinking about how we would’ve visited Mum & Dad yesterday with cake, a selection of sweet treats and a book voucher for Dad, a day to celebrate his birthday whilst Jack ran around in his usual manner, and I just know I’d’ve been watching Dad watching my son. Sensing the pride he would’ve had in me even if he would’ve struggled to express it.

Christmas is the next big anniversary day, the second without Mum, the first without Jennie, and no doubt similar feelings will catch up with me at some point. But I know the passing of time will soften these things, will mould them into something else, something more celebratory and kind, something to hold on to rather than fear.

I miss my Dad.

I am not currently employed. I will be again soon, and I’m excited to start a fresh at a new place but, for now, I am a man of leisure.

It does not suite me. I feel somewhat conflicted most days of how to spend my time and I entirely blame my parents for this.

My Dad was a do-er, a project guy, always something to do be they household chores, or home and garden improvements, there was always something to do. Increasingly, as their home settled into the shape they wanted it, my Dad was busy on the computer writing database programs for the school he worked in (he was a guidance teacher and wanted a better way to track things than on paper), or rehearsing for a choir or Burns performance, as well as all the duties of being a kind and caring Father. 

My Mum was a do-er as well, but for a large part of my childhood, my memories of her are static; knitting (paid work for a local designer), or sewing. Her health fluctuated for many years as they tried to have a second child, so my formative memories of her are what gave me my love of old movies, of Formula One, of reading and sunbathing. My Mum did a lot more than that of course, but skimming the surface of my memories and my Dad never sat still, my Mum never moved.

Neither of those statements are true, of course, but when I look at my own actions and inactions over the past couple of weeks those patterns seem to emerge. I feel that I should be busy as I’m not working, so I’ll wash and hang clothes, I’ll clean, I’ll do some home or garden improvement projects. Or I’ll sit and watch a movie, or fire up my PlayStation, or I’ll just write.

I am even managing to carve some time for me, moving more when I can (I am becoming a wild swimmer!) and let’s be honest I am indulging myself whenever I sit and watch a movie. I do so love getting engrossed in a good movie. 

My son is at nursery three days a week, Becca works two days a week so I have those two days entirely free (I could take the third day as well but it’s nice to have time with my wife that isn’t being interrupted by our son (who I love dearly!) asking us to watch the start of Lightning McQueen’s race for the 391st time!!!).

It’s odd though, not having work as a focus. It’s not a holiday per se, but in theory there is no pressure on me to do much of anything. Becca has said as much too, and yet… and yet.

If anything my main focus has been to not put pressure on myself to Get Things Done. I am chipping away at tidying up the garage so we can use it as a home gym. I’ve done some work in the garden. I’ve done a few things around the house. I’ve sat and read. I’ve swam, I’ve walked, I’ve cycled. For there will always be something that needs done, another task to add to the list. 

However I do want to get the gym finished before I start work in a couple of weeks, and maybe get the kitchen cupboards painted at last (must order the new handles!), and, and, and, so many other things I could do but if I don’t get to them, that’s ok. I finally feel able to find a balance within my own inherited traits so, while it can still be a challenge to be kind to myself, I am finding that I am able to pause now and then to remind myself that it’s ok to not be busy, just as it’s ok to BE busy – something which brings it’s own rewards.

Now, if someone could remind me of all of this in a couple of weeks time when I’m starting the new job and stressing that ALL OF A SUDDEN I have no free time to do anything, that’d be great. 

Well, not right now, but sometime in the next few years at least. Maybe… probably…

I dunno, I’ve given up trying to plan too much too far ahead so let’s call this future dreams that we hope will come true (note: a lot of this is, in reality, grounded in boring things like money but I’m ignoring that for the purposes of this post).

I grew up in Dumbarton, so did Becca, something we discovered not long after we first met and we then spent a few hours discussing what the town was like for us growing up which was, despite the age gap between us, surprisingly similar. It really shouldn’t have been a surprise though, towns like Dumbarton don’t really change all that much, and definitely don’t do it fast.

I moved away from Dumbarton in my early twenties, a new job taking me down to Aylesbury for a couple of years, before a move back to Scotland to sunny Bothwell and then Hamilton, before moving into Glasgow’s West End for several years. Then I met Becca, life took on a wonderfully different feel and, a year in a terrible rented house in Bothwell aside, we’ve made a happy home for Jack in the house Becca grew up in (yes, we rent from my in-laws, no it’s not stressful as they are wonderful and very chilled out and hey, we gave them a grandson!).

But over the past year or so Dumbarton has taken on a different quality for me, with memories of my childhood and early adulthood – the formative years if you will – are merging with more recent sadder memories of my Dad, my Mum, and my younger sister. As well as the everyday grief of thinking ‘ohhh Mum would love to hear this’ or ‘I’d better tell Jen that…’ and ‘Dad would know how best to do this…’ I now have locational memories of playing in the park that we take Jack too with my sister when she wasn’t much older than he is now, or getting ice cream with Mum & Dad in Helensburgh (Dino’s forever! Well Galone’s in the Vale but it shut down years ago), and I’ll be honest with all these emotions and memories barrelling at me day after day, it’s sometimes kinda hard to take.

I work at home almost exclusively these days which is wonderful for many reasons but will happily admit that NOT being out and about in Dumbarton, and having the constant barrage of mini-memories of my family in my face all the time, is yet another reason add to the list of benefits.

Don’t get me wrong, this isn’t an always state of mind, it is stuff that I don’t think about most of the time but when it hits, it’s hitting hard.

So we are moving!

Well, like I said, probably.

Truth be told I have very little family left in the West of Scotland. My Mum’s brother lives about 45 mins away, and I’m not that close with my cousins on that side of the family (I’m older than all three by enough years that there has never been a good crossover), and my cousins on my Dad’s side of the family who I am closer to now live in Australia and New Zealand (the ‘Aussie’ is over in a couple of weeks which will be great).

In short, there aren’t that many ties for me here any more. My best friends live in Glasgow and Edinburgh but seeing them is always something that takes a little arranging anyway so it makes little difference if I move further away, just means a little more planning on my side. Same for the days I need to be in the office, it would like mean an overnight in a hotel now and then but that’s definitely manageable.

There are my nieces of course, my goddaughter Daisy and her big sister Lucy; suffice to say that the ramifications of my sister’s death has made that situation a little tricky to navigate but they are always in my thoughts and, as they grow, hopefully I can explore a relationship with them in later life.

Becca and Jack are a different consideration though. Becca has friends here, a couple of besties that I know she would miss but given they trade WhatsApp voice notes and messages multiple times a day it might be workable. Jack will be at school if/when we do decide to move but at most he’ll only be in Primary 3 or 4 and I can barely remember GOING to school at that age so I think he’ll cope.

I say all this because we are considering moving up north to be nearer Becca’s brother who is near Aviemore. It’s a beautiful part of the country, and given how much time we like to spend outdoors, it’s far more geared up for that kind of lifestyle than the small provincial town in which we currently reside.

Note from Ed: Check that usage of ‘provincial’, sure it sounds all eloquent and ‘writery’ but you don’t live in a province ya numpty.

It would be a good base to explore more of the north of Scotland in Vera too (our motorhome for those not paying attention) and would mean when my in-laws come back to Scotland after their months abroad living their best retired lives, they’ll be close to both families. We have been thinking about it and have a couple of locations we’d prefer but of course that depends on the finances and general state of the world.

Time will tell, but the idea of living somewhere quieter, smaller, and with beautiful countryside on our doorstep really appeals. Quiet walks along country paths, long bike rides without having to negotiate irate drivers on busy roads, a slower way of life.

Dumbarton isn’t a bad place, like most towns it could be better, and we are lucky that we have beautiful countryside on our doorstep here too, it’s just that the proximity to Glasgow means it’s usually inundated with utter bampots who will happily queue for hours to double/triple/quadruple park at some of the easier to reach parts of Loch Lomond, and seem to pay little attention to what they leave behind. Yes tourists mean money but ugh, they also means noisy inconsiderate morons.

Ahem, no YOU’RE a grumpy old man!

Anyway, the current thinking is to move north. Probably. Or New Zealand. Or maybe Canada.

Right now it’s all a dream but we are starting to consider the move in terms of how we want to live our lives, what we really want from a location. What are our must-haves? Can we live without a good cafe nearby? Would we prefer to cycle everywhere if possible? Do we want to live near other houses or get something a little outside of a town? Do we move only a little north to keep Glasgow and Edinburgh closer?

There are so many questions and considerations but we have plenty of time to make a decision and one thing I’ve learned is not to sweat this too much, what will be will be and as long as Becca and Jack are safe and happy, that’s all I really need.

Well that and a nice large garden with plenty of shade for good afternoon naps…