I'm glad he isn't here so I don't have to face which side / stance he would take.
He was my dad.
My rock.
My world.
He changed EVERYTHING to be a solo Dad to a 5 year old & 4 traumatised teens.
Dad stopped working stupid hours. He was a self-employed tradie.
He did my hair in the morning (my ears still remember being brushed).
He drove me school, sometimes with the cat, Raz, in the car. He worked from home in the weekends, so I was looked after. He brought in housekeepers to help. They didn't.
Everything. He welcomed in an unmarried, pregnant teen - who had a completely shite life. She lived with us. He drove her to hospital to give birth - alone (Dad didn't do hospitals / blood / vomit / sickness in general). She and her baby had Christmas with us. The Santa photo was taken the next year - so it wasn't a one-time thing.
His childhood name was Sunny, because he had such a sunny personality. Sister3 has it as a tattoo, with his mum's favourite violets, and rain for our sadness.
He didn't really read, although he spent a lot of time living above the bookshop. He did the read comics very carefully so they could be sold as new.
He had a large family of cousins, aunts, and s few uncles, but just the one big sister. (Not all cousins represented.) So many aunts, his name for his grandmother was Auntie Mum. All women were Aunties, and his mum called this one Mum, Auntie Mum. (Funny how her hair got darker)
He loved his big sister. I overheard him on the phone the morning after their mum died "we're orphans, Gwen".
They were both grandparents by that time, but...
His parents weren't demonstrative, but they were solid in their support.
The snowball photo above? My aunt's marriage wasn't great, so her parents took her away for a family holiday with her daughter. There was snow on the Desert Rd, so they stopped for a snowball fight.
Nana and Grandad would come on holiday with us. Grandad is in hardly any photos as he was behind the camera.
That Rotorua photo? 1978.
Nana had been diagnosed with cancer, & she wanted a last family holiday before she died.
Grandad died in 1981.
Nana in 1990.
My dad was sexy. Seriously. He was wearing a leather bomber jacket & had stubble when he met Mum on St Patrick's Day 1955. He offered to drive her & her sister home, in his Mum's car. Yes, Nana drove as Grandad couldn't (missing an eye).
And a reluctant compulsory military trainee... hungover, too. One camp, Dad was in charge of starting the kitchen fires, so he laid a line of gunpowder between them. 1st thing in the morning, he lit the end & went back to bed. He never liked mornings.
He always said he was uncomfortable around babies... But they weren't uncomfortable around him. I had to get in at least one photo of a flipping toweling hat!
He was a hard worker. The kitchen with We Love This on the pelmet? Photo taken at sister2's engagement. House decorated by wedding. 2am the day of the wedding, the final wallpaper was put up. We hosted the reception. Fire surround at Waitakere Estate as made by Dad.
He had a silly side and didn't like photos much. He was a photographer (he hand painted his and Mum's wedding photo, above).
He was proud and supportive. The night before my 1st graduation, Sister1 tried on my mortar board and said, you have a big head. Me: because I have a degree & you don't. Dad: rub it in. He also said: it's not *just* a BA. You worked hard for that.
Sister1's wedding. There was this great moment when the celebrant did the thing about cellphones, and Dad reached into his inner jacket pocket for Sister1's phone... then had to hand it over to her to deal with. Yeah, he didn't talk on the phone.
When my serious relationship ended and I phoned the parents - Dad answered it (that would be because Mum wasn't ANY WHERE near the phone - ie, in the house). He said:
"I need you to know that you and X are both great people. You're just not great together."
Followed swiftly by: "there's your mother." And handed the phone over.
He wasn't perfect. We had holes in doors, from where he'd kicked them. Walls from where he'd punched them. We were a family falling apart. Teen tantrums. Mum, severe mental health issues & PTSD. Dad had nearly died a couple of years earlier.
His near-death: a steel carborundum blade on the skillsaw shattered, pieces went through his face. Pieces of his dentures stayed in the roof of his mouth. Mum was at home & found him dripping blood in the bath. Sister2 cleaned the blood up, so Sister3 & I didn't see it.
Dad had ongoing head injury issues, rages, forgetfulness. In hindsight, it was the last straw for Mum's mental health. When she left, we pulled together. The message I got was: thank goodness we had you, we had something to focus on. Which makes things really hard now, as I've been programmed to keep the family together - to be the peacemaker, the glue. And I can't. There isn't anything anyone can do, now. The pain, the hurt, the trauma, the distrust, is too deep.
Mum and Dad separated ~1976. I had just started school. Sistet1 had moved out. Sister2 was engaged (she and her fiancé lived with us). Sister3 was suicidal. Brother was oblivious. I don't remember.
They were together longer unmarried, than they were married.
Mum and Dad's relationship was solid and deep and caring when he died.
They ran away from home a couple of years after I moved out. At that point, family demands were putting too much strain on Dad and his health. So, they escaped together - to spend time together.
I hope he is resting peacefully, with the ashes of my Molly cat on his lap. He liked her as 'she has a personality.' I hope the lambs in spring make him smile. You can hear them from his graveside.
My Dad. My oak. I miss him. And I always will.
And, I'll stop now. Thank you pocket listeners. Thank you for 'listening'.
Everything. He welcomed in an unmarried, pregnant teen - who had a completely shite life. She lived with us. He drove her to hospital to give birth - alone (Dad didn't do hospitals / blood / vomit / sickness in general). She and her baby had Christmas with us. The Santa photo was taken the next year - so it wasn't a one-time thing.
His childhood name was Sunny, because he had such a sunny personality. Sister3 has it as a tattoo, with his mum's favourite violets, and rain for our sadness.
He didn't really read, although he spent a lot of time living above the bookshop. He did the read comics very carefully so they could be sold as new.
He had a large family of cousins, aunts, and s few uncles, but just the one big sister. (Not all cousins represented.) So many aunts, his name for his grandmother was Auntie Mum. All women were Aunties, and his mum called this one Mum, Auntie Mum. (Funny how her hair got darker)
He loved his big sister. I overheard him on the phone the morning after their mum died "we're orphans, Gwen".
They were both grandparents by that time, but...
His parents weren't demonstrative, but they were solid in their support.
The snowball photo above? My aunt's marriage wasn't great, so her parents took her away for a family holiday with her daughter. There was snow on the Desert Rd, so they stopped for a snowball fight.
Nana and Grandad would come on holiday with us. Grandad is in hardly any photos as he was behind the camera.
That Rotorua photo? 1978.
Nana had been diagnosed with cancer, & she wanted a last family holiday before she died.
Grandad died in 1981.
Nana in 1990.
My dad was sexy. Seriously. He was wearing a leather bomber jacket & had stubble when he met Mum on St Patrick's Day 1955. He offered to drive her & her sister home, in his Mum's car. Yes, Nana drove as Grandad couldn't (missing an eye).
And a reluctant compulsory military trainee... hungover, too. One camp, Dad was in charge of starting the kitchen fires, so he laid a line of gunpowder between them. 1st thing in the morning, he lit the end & went back to bed. He never liked mornings.
He always said he was uncomfortable around babies... But they weren't uncomfortable around him. I had to get in at least one photo of a flipping toweling hat!
He was a hard worker. The kitchen with We Love This on the pelmet? Photo taken at sister2's engagement. House decorated by wedding. 2am the day of the wedding, the final wallpaper was put up. We hosted the reception. Fire surround at Waitakere Estate as made by Dad.
He had a silly side and didn't like photos much. He was a photographer (he hand painted his and Mum's wedding photo, above).
He was proud and supportive. The night before my 1st graduation, Sister1 tried on my mortar board and said, you have a big head. Me: because I have a degree & you don't. Dad: rub it in. He also said: it's not *just* a BA. You worked hard for that.
Sister1's wedding. There was this great moment when the celebrant did the thing about cellphones, and Dad reached into his inner jacket pocket for Sister1's phone... then had to hand it over to her to deal with. Yeah, he didn't talk on the phone.
When my serious relationship ended and I phoned the parents - Dad answered it (that would be because Mum wasn't ANY WHERE near the phone - ie, in the house). He said:
"I need you to know that you and X are both great people. You're just not great together."
Followed swiftly by: "there's your mother." And handed the phone over.
He wasn't perfect. We had holes in doors, from where he'd kicked them. Walls from where he'd punched them. We were a family falling apart. Teen tantrums. Mum, severe mental health issues & PTSD. Dad had nearly died a couple of years earlier.
His near-death: a steel carborundum blade on the skillsaw shattered, pieces went through his face. Pieces of his dentures stayed in the roof of his mouth. Mum was at home & found him dripping blood in the bath. Sister2 cleaned the blood up, so Sister3 & I didn't see it.
Dad had ongoing head injury issues, rages, forgetfulness. In hindsight, it was the last straw for Mum's mental health. When she left, we pulled together. The message I got was: thank goodness we had you, we had something to focus on. Which makes things really hard now, as I've been programmed to keep the family together - to be the peacemaker, the glue. And I can't. There isn't anything anyone can do, now. The pain, the hurt, the trauma, the distrust, is too deep.
Mum and Dad separated ~1976. I had just started school. Sistet1 had moved out. Sister2 was engaged (she and her fiancé lived with us). Sister3 was suicidal. Brother was oblivious. I don't remember.
Mum made herself into the baddy, which made her return in 1979 so hard for some. Not me. I had my Mum back!
They were together longer unmarried, than they were married.
Mum and Dad's relationship was solid and deep and caring when he died.
They ran away from home a couple of years after I moved out. At that point, family demands were putting too much strain on Dad and his health. So, they escaped together - to spend time together.
I hope he is resting peacefully, with the ashes of my Molly cat on his lap. He liked her as 'she has a personality.' I hope the lambs in spring make him smile. You can hear them from his graveside.
My Dad. My oak. I miss him. And I always will.
And, I'll stop now. Thank you pocket listeners. Thank you for 'listening'.
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