16 years that feel like a lifetime, but, at the same time, have passed in a flash. How is it that it has been that long since I last got to speak to you, to see you, to simply spend some time with you?
16 years that have seen so many changes and I can’t imagine what you’d make of the year we’re in right now. I’ve no doubt you’d be up to your ears embracing the technology of Zoom and FaceTime to see family whilst in the depths of lockdown.
16 years and we’re teetering on the brink of the next stage of our life as G and M grow into incredible young adults that I know you’d be so proud of and start to plan their own next steps.
16 years of making memories without you and yet you are a part of those 16 years nevertheless. Much loved and much missed.
“…But it’s been
Fourteen years of silence
Fourteen years of pain
Fourteen years that are gone forever
And I’ll never have again…”
14 years since I last spoke to you; since I heard you laugh out loud at Terry Pratchett books; since you held my hand or shared a story. It’s been a tough year and we’re now missing not only you, but other much-loved family members to spend time with. 14 years too long xxx
I’m not quite sure how this happened. Two years ago marked the end of G’s Junior school career and now we find ourselves at the cusp of a new adventure for us all as M’s time at the Juniors similarly draws to an end. The past 4 years have been a true roller-coaster ride and the staff at our wonderful village school have been there for every step of the journey. From the moment we stepped through their doors, they have embraced the challenges of having M in the school and provided the whole family with the support we’ve needed to get the children through all those ups and downs relatively unscathed.
In some ways, the last 6 months have been the toughest of his school career, even more so than the NG-tube and broken leg we’ve dealt with in that time. He wasn’t able to attend his Year 6 camp because of poor health, but he found the joy in spending the day there getting muddy with his friends instead. We survived the stresses of SATS and celebrated in style last weekend when we found out just how well he did in passing them all. We’ve enjoyed the Year 6 production of The Wizard of Oz and are finally winding down to the Leavers’ Service at the end of the week.
This comment in his end of year report from his class teacher reflects the wonderful young man he is growing up to be:
“He is an inspiration to his peers that in spite of his health issues, he participates fully in everything and does not use his illness as an excuse not to try….Thank you M, for being such a valuable member of the class this year. You contribute more than perhaps you realise!”
As we wave goodbye to the end of an incredible era, there will be more than one tear shed along the way, but we are preparing to embark on the next big adventure, building on the incredible foundation that has been put in place with great care, love and consideration over the last few years:
Everyone grumbled. The sky was grey.
We had nothing to do and nothing to say.
We were nearing the end of a dismal day,
And there seemed to be nothing beyond,
Daddy fell into the pond!
And everyone’s face grew merry and bright,
And Timothy danced for sheer delight.
“Give me the camera, quick, oh quick! He’s crawling out of the duckweed.”
Then the gardener suddenly slapped his knee,
And doubled up, shaking silently,
And the ducks all quacked as if they were daft
And it sounded as if the old drake laughed.
O, there wasn’t a thing that didn’t respond
Daddy fell into the pond!
– Alfred Noyes
This poem will always remind me of you Dad, of that Christmas when you did fall into the pond and I asked for it to be read as part of my eulogy to you. There is a lifetime of memories to cherish, but I can’t quite believe it’s been 12 years since the last ones were made. I’ve been so busy that this year the pain has been a little easier to bear, but I’m never to busy to remember you with love and miss the time we should have been spending creating new memories. Tonight we’ll raise a quiet glass. Love you Dad xxx