A few weeks ago, I wrote this post about the silver jubilee anniversary of my Dad dying.
I got a lot of lovely messages from lots of people, but I also got this from my cousin, Neil.
I have not seen or spoken to my cousin since my Mum’s funeral, back in 2015.
Not because of any drama or scandal … just because these things happen, especially when you move countries every few years.
But that day, he wrote to me and I was thrilled.
Not just because that was lovely, but because of how he remembered – and how he will forever be connected – to Dad.
Which, to me, was exemplified by his very last sentence … because anyone who knew him would remember Dad doing exactly that sort of thing.
Except me.
Because I’d forgotten.
So Neil’s note let me feel my Dad’s cheeky mischief again.
Something that in the loss of him, I’d somehow lost.
Which let me feel he was close again despite it being 25 long years.
And what a warm and wonderful feeling that was.
What a gift.
So thank you cuz. And thank you Dad.
A positive reason to remember the silver jubilee.
Filed under: Attitude & Aptitude, Dad, Daddyhood, Death, Emotion, Empathy, Family, Fatherhood, Humanity, Jill, Love, Mum, Mum & Dad, Otis, Parents
A while back, I saw a tweet by the incredible Alison Moyet, quoting CS Lewis.
It was this:
It captivated me. Both for how beautifully it is expressed and how true it is. At least to me.
You see the older I get, the more I realise the phrase ‘everything happens for a reason’ is the perfect encapsulation of how life is.
Whoever we are, wherever we live, we experience a rollercoaster of emotions.
Good, bad, scary, sad … you name it, we go through so many of them each and every day.
In many cases, they’re but a temporary moment in a day full of temporary moments. But occasionally, they can be something that leaves a lasting scar … a scar that transcends all that has gone before and shapes all that comes after.
That doesn’t mean it’s always bad, far from it. But it does mean that it is the start of a period of your life where it creates a lens of how you see and live life.
What is interesting is that while you are living through it – and think you have clarity because of it – the reality is we often only get understanding of why something happened with time.
Not that we realise that at the time, sometimes it can take decades … however even though we may stlil find what occurred unfair or unjust, there is a sense of enlightnment because of it.
The feeling that everything finally and suddenly makes sense.
Of course, that can also trigger disturbance inside you all over again … because you discover the scar you thought had healed, was just hiding … but it does have this amazing affect of revealing something you had not seen.
And that’s why that CS Lewis quote hit me so hard.
Because I went through some of that, especially when my Dad died.
I was full of anger and anguish.
Tears and tantrums.
At a loss for what to do or how we had got to this point … even though Dad’s journey to death was over years, rather than days.
And then a decade later – on the eve of my birthday – something happened where the byproduct of that experience was that I learned the last 10 years of my life had been spent in mourning.
Which had been a byproduct of denying my Dad’s health reality for years.
Not due to stupidity, but a need to survive.
To think it was not going to be the end – even though my wonderful Mum tried to gently get me to acknowledge the reality of his ill-health.
And what she did … and what this enlightnement did … and what my wife and Otis did ultimately led to me being able to better handle the tragedy when Mum died, 16 years later.
I was still devastated.
I still had anger and anguish.
But this time, because I knew why, it let me move forward … so I could focus on her wonderfulness, not get lost in the injustice of her passing.
It’s why I think it is so important to talk about death.
Fuck it, it’s why I think it is so important to talk, fullstop.
Not the mindless shit, but to make time for the personal and important shit … because nothing shows love and generosity than ensuring someone you care about doesn’t lose decades of themselves because of things they wish they knew or things they wish they’d said.
Filed under: 2023, Advertising, Agency Culture, Anniversary, Attitude & Aptitude, Authenticity, Cannes, China, Colenso, Colleagues, Comment, Context, Corona Virus, Creativity, Culture, Dad, Daddyhood, Death, Emotion, Empathy, Family, Fashion, Fatherhood, Holiday, Individuality, Jill, Love, Loyalty, Martin Weigel, Mum, Mum & Dad, Music, My Childhood, My Fatherhood, New Zealand, Nottingham, Nottingham Forest, Otis, Paul, Paula, Peace, Prejudice, Relationships, Relevance, Resonance, Revenge, Review, School, Shanghai, Travel, Trust, Truth
So with all the focus on Otis’ 9th birthday, I only just realized this is going to be the last week of this blog for this year. Which means you get a month off and then – when I come back – I will be entering year number 18 of writing my rubbish.
EIGHTEEN YEARS.
An adult.
And will my posts reflect that maturity?
Errrrm, probably not.
In fact a while back, I got called ‘immune to maturity’ by Metallica’s management which they quickly followed up with, “… and I bet you think that’s a compliment.”
That’s why we’re still working together after 7 years … we understand each other so well, ha.
2023 has been an interesting year for me.
Definitely more highs than lows.
In many ways, it has been a standout year for me – both personally and professionally.
I feel almost embarrassed to say that. I totally appreciate how many people are suffering right now. I have friends in tough places and there’s those dealing with everything from mental health challenges through to terrifying conflicts … which just reinforced how privileged and lucky I am.
For the first time in my life, I started this year with a resolution, and it was to say ‘yes’ to everything I was asked to do.
I don’t know why I decided to do that – maybe it is because for all of NZ’s magic [of which there’s tons] it can sometimes feel a pretty isolated, inward-focused place – so to counter that, I decided 2023 was the year of yes and I got to do a lot of that.
Saying yes let me travel literally around the world for work … including some countries/cities I’d never been to in my life. [Not to mention, having the gift of visiting my childhood home again, even though I burst into tears when the lovely new owner opened the door, haha]
I got to speak at a bunch of ace conferences. from Cannes – with my mates Paula and Martin – the magnificent State Of Social in Perth right through to the WWD World Fashion Conference in China [with the incredible Phoebe Philo and, bizarrely, being interviewed by Fashion TV] with a whole bunch in-between.
I was a guest speaker at a bunch of institutions from Cambridge University, the Ecuadorian Advertising Federation right through to the House of Prada.
I got to be part of some incredible creative projects. From the huge: helping design the 72 Seasons world tour stage set for Metallica. The cheeky: offering the All Blacks rugby coach a free curry for a year if he brought home the World Cup, then taking away his naan bread because he didn’t. To the most awarded: watching the wonderful fools at Colenso pick up Gold gongs and Agency of the Year title’s all over the place.
Top that off with seeing 3 members of my team become parents for the first time [and another about 3 months into that magical journey] and to see the 3 newbies from overseas not only fit in with the gang like they were here for years, but make an even bigger difference than I hoped – and you can see why I feel it has been a hugely satisfying year for me professionally.
But it’s the personal side that made it truly memorable.
First of all, we’re all happy and healthy. Like properly happy and healthy.
Then, for the first time in 7 years, we had our first proper family holiday. And while It did not last long in terms of duration, the glow still is with me months later. Yes, I appreciate that sounds more sickly than being force fed 5047389 sticks of candyfloss, it’s true.
Jill started her new company, Tiny Riot … a jewellery company dedicated to say the words women feel, but don’t always want to say out loud. She also felt she had found her peeps … letting her feel she was part of a community she loves and thrives in. I cannot tell you how happy this makes me, especially as we know we’ll no doubt be moving to another country in the not too distant future, hahaha.
Just to be clear, that has not been decided yet, we just know it’s coming … especially as we’ve already lived in NZ longer than we have lived in the last 4 countries we have been in. But I digress …
Which leave Otis …
Brilliant, wonderful, fantastic Otis.
Well, he has flourished and blossomed this year.
From seeing his mates network evolve and develop … with their own codes, games and slang … through to watching him throw himself into new activities, like tennis and swimming, yoyo’s and messing about with Roblox, Reels and video games … to seeing him love his budgie, Sky [which he made me a t-shirt to wear on the Cannes stage to ensure I admitted I cared for it as much as Rosie, ha] and then of course, watching him deal with his dysgraphia diagnosis with positivity, openness and conviction.
Given I have seen adults literally burst into tears when they had to move desks at work – true story – seeing an 8, now 9 year old – embrace a challenge that will affect him for the rest of his life with understanding, openness and a desire to not let it define him or make excuses for him is honestly one of the most wonderful things I’ve ever had the privilege of witnessing.
[I also have to add Forest staying in the Premiership was a highlight, because while Jill and Otis may not like to hear it … that team are family to me, hahaha]
But of course, you can’t have good without bad and there’s been a couple of things that have shaken me deeply.
One in particular made me question everything I thought I knew and could rely on.
The impact it had on me was – and still is – huge. I would say it has been the most emotionally confronting situation I’ve experienced since my parents died. It has been that big.
What makes it even worse is that in reality, I may never really get over it as the impact affects me and my family for the rest of our lives.
And we’re the least affected in this situation.
It has taken me months to try and come to terms with what has happened … to try and accept things I thought I knew and could rely on, have failed.
If truth be told, I’m still working on it … because while I appreciate life can take unexpected turns, it’s why – and how others deal with it – that determines how you feel about it and in this case, they are the things that ended up being disastrously dealt with.
Which is why 2023 can never be seen as a spectacular year for us, merely a very good one.
And as I said, that is still a hugely positive outcome given so many are suffering in ways that make my pain seem insignificant.
Which is why I was so impacted by some graffiti that someone I vaguely know, told me about.
It’s this …
… they’re not wrong.
Which is why, while I know 2024 will face it’s challenges – especially with the US election and the likelihood America will lose its mind and vote for Trump [while acknowledging the Democrats have failed to find and develop a single worthy candidate in 4+ years] – I hope by this time next year, more people can say they had a more positive than challenging year because the World needs it. Because for all the hell that Covid subjected the planet too, the anxiety created by people [read: old, white men] who feel entitled to do and have whatever they want is arguably, even worse. And without wanting to sound like a hippie … some peace would be nice.
I know no one will have read this far, but then this is not for you … but I can assure you the last 3 posts of this week won’t be as indulgent, not for your sanity, but because I can’t be arsed to write so much rubbish again.
Filed under: Anniversary, Comment, Dad, Death, Jill, Love, Mum, Mum & Dad, Otis
Today is the 8th anniversary of my Mum passing.
I’ve written a huge amount about how her death affected me.
How I realised that the operation to save her life, had cost her her life.
And yet, unlike Dad’s anniversary – that looms large over me, every year – Mum’s often slips my mind. There has been more than one occasion where the only reason I remembered it was because a friend wrote to send me their love on her anniversary.
Now I should point out I utterly love my Mum.
She was an incredible human who continues to influence how I look at the world.
But while her birthday is cemented in my heart and mind, the anniversary of her death isn’t.
Of course the circumstances between Mum and Dad dying were vastly different.
+ Dad died first.
+ I was 29 when Dad died and 44 when Mum did.
+ I was single when Dad died and a married father when Mum did.
+ I had just left home when Dad died and lived in lots of countries when Mum did.
+ When Dad died my Mum was still there to talk to, but when Mum died, I was alone.
I should point out when I say ‘alone’, I don’t mean literally – I had my wonderful Jill, who was amazing – but even that is different to having someone you can talk to about the life of the person who has died because you were both part of it for many years.
If you read this one day Jill, I hope you understand what I mean.
You were a rock to me. You helped me get through one of the worst times of my life without letting it become more terrible. So please don’t think I didn’t appreciate you – I did and I do and I always will.
This is all a bit rambling isn’t it?
The irony is that while I feel guilt about having to consciously remember Mum’s anniversary – despite having a tattoo of it on my arm – Mum would probably be very happy about it.
For her, she would see it as me remembering her birthday more than her final day – and that’s exactly how she would want it.
It took me 10 years to get to that stage for my Dad, but with Mum it was much quicker.
Again, there are probably many reasons for it – including Otis being only 3 months old when Mum died – but when I think of her, I think of her warmth, compassion, curiosity and spirit.
She was a gentle woman but also a determined one.
Actually determined isn’t quite right … she was, but in the pursuit of her independence. By that I mean in terms of her mind, beliefs, interests and life.
The older I get, the more I appreciate how she handled life.
It wasn’t the easiest, but she never complained or wanted help because she always recognised there were people worse off than her.
I can’t tell you how many ‘discussions’ we had about me wanting to give her money to make her life a little easier and her refusing to take it. It took years for us to find a way to make it work for both of us … which was me putting money in her bank account and she not spending a penny of it. Hahaha.
Oh I miss her.
I miss her voice, her face, her eyes, her questions and her love.
I am so glad I was with her when she died.
I knew one of her biggest fears was being alone when it happened … we had talked about it after it had happened to my Aunt – which is why of all the things I could do for her, making sure this didn’t happen is the one that I know she would have appreciated most.
Of course, not everyone is so lucky to know when this could happen – but with both my Mum and Dad, circumstances meant we were together and I’m so grateful for that.
Not that I always felt that way …
When I was much younger, the idea of being with my parents when they died was too overwhelming for me to consider.
I think I may even have told my parents.
How I imagined it would destroy me.
And it did.
But it was also incredibly important.
Because at that moment, everything was about them.
Their comfort. Their peace. Their ability to take that final step.
I’m not saying it was easy … I’m not saying it didn’t hurt … but in my mind, if it helped them, that’s all that really mattered.
And it helped both my parents.
Which means it helped me.
Because when they needed me most, I was there.
And while the pain of them dying will never heal, I know being there means it didn’t go as deep as it could.
When I think of this day, I think of everything that happened over that day.
It still stings.
But as much as I wish none of it happened, I am so glad I was able to be with her – and Dad.
Because I now see it as the most unlikely beautiful gift we could give each other.
I miss you Mum.
Love you.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Dad, Death, Family, Love, Mum, Mum & Dad
I was going to say the reason for this post is because I’m still in a sentimental mood from yesterday’s Valentine’s day post.
Then I thought, ‘who am I trying to kid?’.
Because as much as I appreciate I can be a prick, I know I am also a massive sentimentalist.
Which is why this article affected me so deeply.
I can’t imagine what that must have felt like, but I do know what the impact would have been.
When I got married, I made sure I had a picture of my Dad on the table with us.
It was this one.
I wanted him there, even though he wasn’t really there.
And while it may sound weird, it made the whole occasion feel more complete … more perfect.
Which is why I get why the bride in this story would want the man who had received her father’s heart, at her wedding.
And I love that he came.
That he knew what it meant for her and for him.
That literally nothing would stop him from attending.
Because despite being invisible, he could see the thread that connects them.
He appreciated this was a chance to say hello, thank you and goodbye all at the same time.
A way to tell each other the person who is so important to both of them lives on, even though he’s gone.
I wrote about a similar situation a few years back … except this one was a chance encounter.
It still gives me goosebumps.
Still overwhelms me with emotion.
And while the price they both paid for that encounter was one of unimaginable pain, I also know how much I’d give to have that one additional moment with my Mum and Dad … which is why I’m so glad the bride and Mrs Carter got to have that with their respective loved ones.
Because while memories never leave us, moments stop us getting too lost in them.