I found the anniversary of my Dad's death, on
St. Patrick's Day, more difficult to manage this year than ever before. And so too with the anniversary of his birth, today, St. George's Day. Previously on these occasions, I've been surrounded by familiarity; things familiar to both of us: London, my school friends, the Times, Arsenal, Vic Reeves, Broadstairs. But this year, I'm surrounded by the unfamiliar. There is nothing and nobody around me that he ever knew or ever will know. There is no fabric connecting the now me to the me when he was alive. I feel like I have drifted away from him. I missed him terribly on St. Patrick's Day and I miss him terribly today.
So my Mum's card, cheesy and sentimental though it was, helped soothe the deep wound. It didn't mention my Dad but it didn't need to.
I have a complicated relationship with my Mum. Distance, disconnection, denial. And all three in abundance since I've moved to Los Angeles. But sometimes I'll see a glimmer of something and remember why, despite all, I love her and always will.
