In my previous blog I noted I hide my anxiety well (at least I think I do).
I also hide my emotions, my sad ones. I find it very difficult to cry and show any kind of weakness.
I was brought up to be strong, my Dad taught me to be like this, he is very hard up.
Well my Dad is ill, terminally ill. He has lung cancer.
My Dad is strong, tough, always right, smart, rude, generous and has always put others before himself.
It’s difficult to see him like this and hard to get round my head that he will not be here with us sometime soon.
My strong protective father is now weak and tired.
Chemo made him really ill, he only had it to contain the Cancer but now he cannot have anymore so is it now a waiting game?
Out of 9 siblings I believe I am most like him.
We have the same personality traits, we are both headstrong and we don’t like to show emotion.
He is 74, he had a difficult childhood and finds it hard to show love.
When I was little I always wanted him to show me, he was very strict with me and my brothers and sisters. He had zero patience and was stressed a lot.
I always thought he didn’t love me and resented him for it.
But now I am an adult, I realise he shows/shown me in other ways.
He worked hard all his life to provide for his family and we never went without.
I see him worry about me, I see him care and he has always looked after me and my son.
He is a wonderful Grandad and Dad.
When we was younger we didn’t go on fancy holidays abroad, we went on caravan holidays to the Isle of Wight and as a result it is one of my favourite places.
Dad and I would go for walks in the countryside with our border collie Sally near my Nan’s old house (another favourite place).
We wouldn’t talk much, we would just walk. He would tell what places were called and what bird that was.
He’s a smart man, he knows everything (well he likes to think he does).
I remember once we ripped Ivy off a tree, he had told me it was bad for the tree and my love of nature grew because of my old man.
He loves antiques and was always doing a car boot on weekends even after a hard long week at work. I remember going with him, getting up at 5am taking my barbie dolls to sell and spending the morning with my Dad.
I remember one birthday I really wanted a typewriter I was around 8 or 9 and desperately wanted one to write my stories. That night on my birthday he returned from work with one, I was so happy and grateful.
It’s the little things that matter.
I think he sees me as a dependant still or he just likes to be needed.
Whenever my car goes wrong, he has it fixed by his mechanic Roger (Roger the Dodger).
He’s always giving me fresh vegetables from his allotment.
It shocks him that I do my own DIY, but I like to do him proud I guess and let him know I am capable.
I don’t think he realises how much I am like him.
I am strong like him, although I have anxiety I am still strong. I’ve been through a lot of s**t and I’m still here today.
And that’s because of him, my Dad.