The Musings Of An Opinionated Sod [Help Me Grow!]

25 years since that early Saturday morning call, urging Mum and I to get to the hospital quickly.

25 years since we were rushed straight to his bedside.

25 years since I heard my Mum gently tell him it was OK to go.

25 years since we witnessed his final breath.

25 years since my world shattered.

For the first time.

You’d think that given I’ve lived almost half my life now without him, I’d have come to terms with him being gone.

And on one level I suppose I have.

I certainly don’t carry the same level of pain and loss as I did those first years.

But in some ways, I miss him even more.

Part of this is because the half of my life without him has been the half where so much in my life has happened.

The good, the bad, the weird, the disappointing, the stupid, the wonderful, the unexpected.

Also known as the part of life where a parent discovers if what they did, helped their kids become whoever they want to be.

In my case, I’ve talked a lot about how Dad – and Mum – supported me.

Not financially – because we didn’t have it – but emotionally.

Encouraging. Listening. Enquiring. Advising. Helping.

It’s important I point out they were not some passively-engaged pushovers. Oh no. They were very engaged and any major decision or choice I was considering was always met with a bunch of questions.

But the thing is, these were never to undermine, only to better understand.

For them, the most important thing was to learn what I wanted to do, why I wanted to do it and how I had come to that decision.

That was their only motivation.

But it’s what they did next that – having become older and a Dad myself – I now realise was an act of incredible parenting.

Because if they felt satisfied I’d given real thought to what I wanted to do and really cared about doing it, then – even if they didn’t completely agree with my choices – they would actively encourage my decision.

Said another way … they trusted they’d had given me the skills to make the right decisions and choices that worked for me.

It’s why they supported my decision to not go to university.
It’s why they supported my decision to become a studio musician.
It’s why after Dad had a terrible stroke, they told me to still go to Australia, because they knew if I didn’t go then, I’d likely never leave Nottingham at all.

If anyone can think of a more selfless act of love than that, I’d love to hear it.

Of course they made mistakes.

We had disagreements.

I disappointed them more than a few times.

But if things went wrong with the stuff I was trying to do, they never said, “I told you so”.

All I was ever met with was love and support.

Sure, after some time had passed they may have asked me what I learned from what I did – or didn’t – do.

And occasionally – when Mum was out of earshot – Dad would ask what the hell I had been thinking when something had gone particularly bad/daft … but I was never made to feel I was stupid or had disappointed them, even when I know I probably had disappointed them.

It’s part of the reason I felt such an obligation to make my adventure to Australia count.

There were some tough, horrible times, not helped by the fact Dad was very ill and Mum had had to give up her job to look after him 24/7.

Yet every time I said I’d come home because Dad had got worse or I felt Mum was struggling under the weight of pressure and responsibility, they said [through Mum] “we miss you so much, but we don’t want you to come back until you’re ready and we don’t think you’re ready”.

And as much as I missed them and longed to be with them – and I feel a bit horrified to say this – they were right. I wasn’t ready. Not really. I was exploring and discovering life. Exploring and discovering me … which means they were as correct in their view as they were when they thought if I didn’t go to Australia when I’d originally planned, I’d most likely never leave Nottingham – let alone England.

Not because of guilt or duty, but – as uncool as it may sound – because I loved my parents dearly and never needed much of an excuse to want to be near them.

And despite them knowing this … despite them going through arguably the most challenging time of their life … despite them knowing they would miss me massively … they decided what they wanted wasn’t as important as what they wanted for me.

So with a breathtaking amount of love and sacrifice, they encouraged me to leave my family, my home, my city and my country … believing there was more for me outside of Nottingham than Nottingham offered for me.

Just to be clear, we loved Nottingham.

I loved it as a kid and I still love it now.

But – as my parents suspected – the life I’ve been able to live is a life that is much bigger than the one I’d have probably had if I’d stayed where I was. Especially given where Nottingham – and the UK for that matter – was at that point in time.

I’m not saying it would have been a bad life.
I’m not saying anyone is wrong if they have chosen another option.
But there was obviously a strong desire in me to explore – driven by an Australian woman I’d met – as I spent a year planning the possibilities of the trip before I even broached the subject with Mum and Dad about wanting to go.

And that’s why I felt so strongly that I had to squeeze every possibility out of it when they told me to still go.

In many ways, it was my way of repaying them for the the love and encouragement they’d given – and always given – me, with my bigger life decisions.

My view was that if I was going to be away from my wonderful parents, then the least I could do was to make it something they could feel was worthwhile … and by worthwhile, I mean something that represented living a life of fulfilment.

Now I’ve written a lot about that in the past and now, 25 years later, I hope I have – and continue to – do just that.

I know Dad would have been thrilled I’d lived around the world … found someone who loves me as much as I love them … had experienced the sheer joy of becoming a father myself … of loving Otis with all I’ve got … and, on top of all that, had managed to have and enjoy some sort of career – even though I know he’d have found it utterly, utterly bizarre. [By which I mean he’d have found the job I do bizarre, not that I had managed to have a career]

I admit, when I moved back to the UK after 25+ years away, I did question this. I wondered why I would come ‘home’ when my parents had passed.

But then I remembered they knew I loved them, they knew I was there at their final moments and – at least in Mum’s case – they knew literally everything in my life, except my friendship with Paul, was because of the adventure I went on. The adventure they enabled and encouraged me to do.

And while I would do anything to have just one more day with them both, this lets me feel I made – and am making – the most of it for them.

Not because they wanted that, but because I know they wanted that for me.

So thank you.

Thank you for the stuff you did and the stuff you never even know you did.

Thank you for it all.

Every single thing.

Because it’s no exaggeration to say all I have has something to do with you.

Maybe it was a nod at the right time.

Or a nudge. Or a word of encouragement.

Or the right questions. Or the needed hug.

It all mattered.

It all still matters.

You helped me believe in myself when I didn’t believe in myself.

You still do.

What a gift.

I’ll keep striving to make it all worth while.

For me. But especially for you.

For another 25 years at least.

I miss you Dad. And Mum.

Love you.