Two years today. Two years since we lost our beautiful Dad. Truly, I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it’s been two whole years since I’ve seen him. Since we heard him say ‘Cherio’. Since we saw him give Huddy a high five. There are so many things I miss. Some that are obvious. Some that come to me in the middle of the night. There are things that people know. There are things that only us know. It’s days like today that the little things come to the surface. When the smallest memory can bring a lump to my throat. When I hear a song, watch a movie. That’s the hard part of grief. Just when you think you’ve conquered it, it rises up from the craziest of places. Spontaneously. Out of the blue.
I’ve spent the last couple of years trying to both get on with things to try to get rid of the pain, and at the same time, desperately holding on to his memory. Trying to enjoy life and be appreciative of the things we had, and still have, and at the same time being realistic that, I just miss him and always will.
Losing a parent is a very surreal thing. In many ways, you are forced to really grow up and then become the parent yourself. And yet, it takes you back, no matter how old you are, to being a little girl, who truly just wants to hug her Dad.
I try not to dwell very often. To be honest, it’s too hard. But tonight, I’ve been reading over the eulogy that my siblings and I delivered to a packed church of over 1000 people on that day. We wanted everyone to know about the man whom they knew, but didn’t know. The stuff his kids knew. I thought some of these might make you laugh….
Dad was clumsy. He was a clutz. Dad was known for tripping over his own feet. One time he was cleaning his beloved pool when his phone fell out of his pocket. Needless to say, as Dad realised and reached out to get it, he fell in too. Later that day he went to get a new phone. As he charged it on the bench and picked it up, it fell from his hands and smashed all over the floor. Two phones in one day. Dad was not happy Jan.
Dad was impatient and stubborn. One time he went to the chemist to buy some panadol and was asked by the assistant if he was on any other medication. Dad proceeded to lose his mind at her, yelling ‘that’s none of your business’. We tried to tell him that she was only doing her job, but he wouldn’t have a bar of it. Each time we saw him take a tablet we would then ask him if he was on any other medication and he gave us a look that would kill.
Dad was goofy. He had his own language and made up words that only we would understand. Many of you have probably tried to decipher what he was talking about from time to time. Put your hands up if you’ve ever heard of ‘underconstuble’? He would often be heard to say ‘how come got’, or ‘every clever’ or ‘see you motorrow’. Dad had a way with words. He would find out what each of our names were backwards and make sure we knew. Whether it was Enedrereg Kcolresh or Kram Kolresh (Mark and Gerardine Sherlock bawkwards), Dad had a way of making us laugh with every word he said.
Dad was a self proclaimed builder and electrician. Recently at ANZAC house, they found 3 years worth of receipts at Bunnings, we’d hate to think of how much money he spent there.
Dad was selfless. He always pushed us with encouragement, laughs and words of wisdom and was the most selfless person I know. He always knew what to say at the right place and time. He never liked to argue and would take the blame over any argument.
. As a Grandfather, or more effecitonately known as ‘Pa’ to my Ella and Hudson, he was in his element. A big kid at heart who loved nothing more than playing with my kids in the back yard. Ever the competitior, he would always try to win at games and never simply ‘let them win’. Hudson was his shadow and he followed him around the house as he tinkered with this and that. My kids loved nothing more than facetiming him each night to see how his day was. They cherished him, and he cherished them. Dad, I promise my children will grow up to know and love you just as we do. Your name and face will be forever present in their lives and hearts.
Dad had his own way with words. I will never forget the numerous times he interviewed people and asked them in the interview if they used the phrase fair dinkum. I always felt sorry for the poor bugger being asked this. I could just see them squirming in their chair thinking do I answer yes and have him think I am an aussie bogan, or do I say no with the risk of not getting the job. Either way, it was a guarantee that Dad’s reaction to their answer would have genuinely been fair dinkum!
Dad had special names for each of us. I was Snake, Pat was Eshmund. Mon was honkitonk junior and Jane was pig face poo bah bum. As most aussies do, he had a nick name for everyone and his children were no different.
He loved North Melbourne but probably hated the Essendon footy club just as much. He’d say it was character building growing up in Essendon and barracking for North. He also use to tell my brother “Pat…I’ve been married and had 4 kids but the day Carlton beat Essendon by 1 point in the prelim final in ‘99’ (winner was to play North) was the greatest day of my life”. So to ay he disliked the Tullamarine Bombers was an understatement.
Dad loved Mum dearly. The love they shared was rare. It was the kind of love that you could only dream of experiencing in your lifetime. Every single day without failure, Dad would come home from work, walk in the door and give Mum a double kiss. This double kiss was obligatory. It was their sign of true love, and a sign that proved to us kids that eternal love really did exist.
Two years on, and I know that you would be proud of us all. You’d be so proud of Mum. The hole still feels huge, but the pain is starting to dull. In some ways that is good. In others is makes me scared that we are getting used to life without you. Yet I know, that we never truly will, no matter how hard we try.
The one thing I know is that you are never far from our minds. No matter where we live, no matter where we travel, no matter where we are. We carry you, secretly, lovingly in our hearts. The weight is so heavy, the love is so strong.
So today we toast to you. Love you Dad. He always ended a conversation with ‘cherio’ or ‘hooroo’.
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