Had a bit of a wobble yesterday

I thought I was totally over the whole builders-are-here-working-on-my-dream-home-and-it's-not-my-dad thing. In the past it has made me sad to see work I'd always hoped [if the dream of owning a house in France came true] would be done by my dad: working holidays where I could help, and spoil him rotten. I know that's no longer a possibility, and I've done my grieving, but just occasionally his absence comes up and mugs me.

I was fine yesterday, and the thought that he'd be mad at me for accepting substandard work just because I didn't want to make yet another complaint gave me enough backbone to psych myself up for the difficult conversation of "Stop! I want you to re-do the brickwork". OK, that wasn't needed, but the thought of my dad gave me the strength to know I could do it.

And still I was OK, it was a rational sort of thing. I think what primed me for the wobble was chatting with M. Mazij jnr & M. Dorian; we were just doing that sort of bantering conversation that means nothing, taking the mickey out of each other & lightly teasing. I miss that sort of thing so much. Don't get me wrong, David is lovely to talk to & we do tease each other [some of us are more merciless than others...], but there was something about yesterday that made me realise I'm missing something and hadn't even noticed it was gone.

Still fine, until I came across a photo of my dad & his elder brother, Trev - they were working on a lintel on an old stone building [what's happening in my life right now], and suddenly waves of pain washed over me. I'm fine [plenty of 'fine' going on today; not so much 'brilliant' happening]. I know it's just tiredness, and the various stresses of the building work/language difficulties/being apart from David, coupled with a little bit of unresolved grief, but it's making me miss dad like nobody's business.

I think what might have made it worse is M. Mazij - fairly small chap, losing his hair, not immediately attractive on the outside, but a honey on the inside, a real leg-puller. Well [if you don't mind the omission of "bears a vague resemblance to David Jason"], that's pretty much an accurate description of my dad. I'm forgetting: loves old houses, good at woodworking. Again, thinking about it today, it's opened up a dad-shaped hole in my life, and I'm not sure how to fill it...

Thankfully no-one can see the tears streaming down my face, and by the next time I see someone, I will have got the smile back in place.

I'm posting the photo [dad on L] - but you can't tell from it how wonderful he was; you're just going to have to trust me on that...

[At his funeral, the village church's largest-ever congregation & collection would seem to indicate I'm not alone in feeling that way.]

If you've got a lovely dad, go and hug him now, and if you can't, phone & tell him how much you love him [yes, even if you're bloke!]; I wish I could join you.