Daddy's Little Princess

Out Of The Blue

VixyLou1986 — Mon, 10 Sep 2012 22:00:50 GMT

On Sunday 2 September I braced myself for grief. From a few days before I knew what was coming. Six months since he took his final breath.

I lit all his candles, and I kneeled down in front of my photos, ‘the shrine’ to him. I was sad. As I spoke to him I shed a tear. But I didn’t feel the grief I expected.

You can’t plan for grief. It may not come on those days that you expect. It will hit you when you least expect. That is the lesson I learnt today.

As I stood in front of the cash machine, waiting for it to register my pin number I glanced around and noticed the sky. Sunshine and rain clouds. It could only mean one thing – a rainbow was lurking somewhere nearby. A moment of joy, soon I will see my rainbow… soon I will see my daddy. And then only a moment later reality, reality. A cuddle from above cannot compare to feeling of a true parental embrace; a comforting cuddle, a loving hand. A rainbow can’t talk back. An overwhelming paralysing sense of grief and realisation.

It’s not because he is away on business that I haven’t seen him for a while. It’s not because I’ve moved out of the parental home that I don’t talk to him as much anymore. When I go home to visit family he won’t be there.

I said goodbye on 12 March 2012. I held his hand one last time and I kissed his forehead. I won’t see his loving, reassuring, caring face again. When I speak to him, I’ll never hear his reply. Such an incomprehendable thought that it’s surprisingly easy to cope on a day to day basis because it’s too much to believe, but then every now and again the realisation hits…. and it hurts.

I love his signs, they give me such strength, positivity and faith through such a difficult experience. But I love him more, and nothing can comfort me more than his embrace and his magical words that just always seem to be right.

Mother Dearest

VixyLou1986 — Sat, 25 Aug 2012 19:55:03 GMT

I am a daddy’s girl; his little princess and mini-me. My mum knows this, and over the last 18 months she has watched as my world shattered around me; as I dedicated my every moment to care for him, and then my every tear as I grieved the loss of my first true love.

My parents seperated when I was eleven years old. I came to terms with it and I came to love my step-dad as the years went by. My parents were schoolyard sweethearts who married young, and before they had reached their mid-twenties they had two young children running around their ankles. They grew up together and their relationship became more like that of siblings and best friends.

It’s the mothers’ job to look after her grieving children right? Well, of course, her babies need her warm embrace to get through such an unthinkable loss. But then who helps the mother? Especially when she is no longer the wife; she isn’t the widow in this tragedy. Who helps her when she doesn’t believe it is her right to grieve? Her first love, the man she thought she would grow old with, and the father of her children; but her ex-husband, she gave her heart to another.

It is inevitable in life that a mother will have to accept the care of her children as she ages. But as a fully-able 48 year old woman it’s not that time yet. Especially when the children are still so much in need of her care still. So how do I help my mother? It pains me to see her struggle through it alone; to refuse to grieve and to bury it deep down. It is a process, a process that I am still working through; but it is not one that can be denied, it won’t go away until you face it head on.

I can’t force her to face it. It is a process that people work through in their own time. She isn’t the widow, she is remarried; she can’t let my step-father know how she feels, and she left my father so she has no right to feel this way. If she hadn’t left the marriage perhaps things would have turned out differently, she blames herself. But she wasn’t happy in the marriage, and without the seperation I never would have had my second little brother.

But no matter what my brother and I tell her, she takes the blame. So who helps the mother?

Rainbows and Angels and Shooting Stars?

VixyLou1986 — Sat, 25 Aug 2012 19:52:59 GMT

On 12 November 1986 I laid eyes on my first love.

On 1 March 1986, nine months earlier I had been at his wedding. I was nothing more than the size of a peanut; just starting to grow the fingers that I would wrap around his, and the lips that would kiss him so lovingly for the next 25 years were just beginning to take shape.

From that first moment that I saw him, the moment that he became a daddy, and I his princess; I knew love.

On 3 March 2012 I saw a rainbow outside my bedroom door. That rainbow came back every day for a week. As I needed them less, they became less frequent. But if ever I need a rainbow I know I will see one. I know that he will send me one.

On 3 March 2012 I named his star. How would he find his way to our rendezvous point if it wasn't officially named yet? Watch out for shooting stars I told all my friends, he's on his way to Rendezvous 2200. I woke on the morning of 4 March 2012 to BBC news reports of an asteroid spotted over the skies of England through the night.

On 9 August 2012 I received an unexpected call from Office Angels; they had found my CV online and had arranged an interview for me to attend the next day, the closest London underground station is Angel. On 16 August 2012 I began my new job.

All coincidences you might say, but I believe them to be more. On 2 March 2012 I held his hand and through my tears I made sure that I told him I love him; I wanted it to be the last thing he heard, I wanted it to be the last thing I said to him. I love my daddy with all of my heart; he is my first love, he is my hero, he is my role model, he is everything to me. On 2 March 2012 I knew loss.

He is in my thoughts at all times. I feel his presence around me. I still talk to him, and in his special new ways he talks back. Thanks to him I know love, and I know faith and miracles.

The Rainbow

VixyLou1986 — Mon, 23 Apr 2012 21:00:23 GMT

03 March 2012

On his first day of testing out his new magic powers he sent me a shooting star.

04 March 2012

Every day since I have seen a rainbow. For the first few days it appeared on the carpet outside my bedroom, reflecting off a nearby mirror.

I began to fear the day I didn't see one. It isn't that he hasn't sent you one, its just that you didn't see it that day, my friend told me. And I think she was right. Every day in some way I see a rainbow. When I visited him at rest on 08 March 2012 I saw a rainbow shining in the sky above him. As my brother and I attempted to assemble a wardrobe for the first time without him, he was outside the window. If I don't see him myself, my friends make sure to tell me of their sightings. Even a friend in Australia found him travelling the world; and in the background of another friends photo in Honduras.

I never see rainbows, the boyfriend told me. Well, of course not, he's with me. In spitalfields market with him; a rainbow of balloons. Shining over his apartment; a rainbow following a storm. And by sheer accident watching the marathon together on Sunday, daddy came along to cheer with us with a rainbow charity and rainbow of balloons exactly opposite us.

My rainbow is with me every day in his own unique ways. I love him with all my heart. If only rainbows weren't so out of reach. I love you daddy.

There Is Something Wrong With The Tree

VixyLou1986 — Wed, 11 Apr 2012 18:53:00 GMT

02 March 2012

A story shared between a father and a daughter. A story for the past. For the present. And for the future. As a young girl he read The Magic Faraway Tree stories to me at bedtime. As a mother I hope to share these with my own children. But first I want to reshare them with my father.

After almost 20 years, on 04 January 2012 we entered the Enchanted Wood together. Hand in hand with Jo, Bessie and Fanny our adventure was about to begin. To start with I read many chapters every night; to enjoy the journey, and to spend quality time. As the weeks and months went on I slowed down. Afraid to go beyond a chapter per night. If the book ends, so does our journey and our adventure.

"There is no link between the book and the situation," the counsellor told me. Don't be afraid to finish the book. Don't fear The End.

We had been to many lands together; the land of birthdays, the land of Dame Slap, the land of topsy turvy. We had met many queer folk along the way. We were coming towards The End.

On Friday 02 March 2012 at 4pm I began to read. Seven chapters to go. I would reach The End. If I didn't reach it, would I ever be able to? After two months of gay adventures, on our final day the book began to mirror life. The tree is dying. But I must finish the book. I read on, praying that he was listening. I made it through the final page, after five difficult chapters the tree was saved. But it was time to say goodbye. Goodbye Moonface. Goodbye Silky. Goodbye Saucepan Man.

A few hours passed before the hardest goodbye. A goodbye I never wanted. A goodbye I couldn't say; instead, "I love you"

I lowered his bedroom lights; "Night night. Sleep tight. Stay safe. I love you daddy"

Coincidence or Connected? I know what I believe.

Twinkle

VixyLou1986 — Tue, 10 Apr 2012 20:07:34 GMT

03 March 2012

We still haven't got round to naming his star. How ever will he manage to find his way to Rendezvous 2200 if we haven't given it the official name yet?!?!! Rendezvous 2200 officially named on 03/04/2012 - everyone told to watch out for shooting stars in the sky at night, daddy is en route. I thought nothing of it. A nice sentiment but shooting stars don't happen.

04 March 2012

Meteor Witnessed Across Britain

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-17249423

If ever I needed a sign! Show-off!

The Day The Earth Stood Still

VixyLou1986 — Mon, 09 Apr 2012 20:35:03 GMT

02 March 2012

I held his hand. I kissed his hand. I begged him not to leave me. I told him I needed him. But more importantly I told him I loved him.

He is my hero. He is the Guide and the Weight of My World. He is my everything. And I am his mini-me.

I held his hand. He took his final breath. Or at least we thought he did. He is stubborn. He is brave. He is courageous. He is the most amazing man that I will ever know. He is a fighter. He is my father. He is my daddy.

I miss him.

Rewind.....

03 February 2011

It was about 10pm when I got home. The house was empty but that wasn't anything out of the ordinary. Daddy goes to Tescos at all sorts of hours for bits and bobs.

"You might want to sit down," my step mum told me when she got in.

A Brain Tumour.

Doctor Doctor

VixyLou1986 — Tue, 17 Jan 2012 21:03:50 GMT

So, today I went to see my doctor for a check up. She has been the most amazing doctor I have ever known this past year, and thank goodness I have her. I have a very good relationship with my doctor, I can talk to her about anything; her door is always open to me, she is always on the other end of the phone if I need her, she's even round at the house every few days checking on my dad now. If she wasn't my doctor I'd be hunting her down on Facebook and befriending her.

Two weeks ago she put me on anti-depressants. I was reluctant for a long time. I want to grieve. I want to go through the necessary processes in dealing with what is happening. It won't make you happy, she told me. It won't change the situation. It will merely take the edge off. She didn't force them on me, the decision was all mine. But knowing that things were only going to get harder I finally accepted them after things started building up speed after Christmas. I don't think I do need them right now. But I don't know how I will cope without them in the weeks and months to come.

So far I think I must sound pretty logical, pretty with it. Taking things on board, understanding the pain and feelings to come. I was. I still hadn't accepted it; I don't think that will happen until the day comes that I still can't yet bring myself to think about or talk about, or even say the words of what will happen 'that day' but I was preparing for it. I was processing my thoughts, I was talking through them with my counsellor and doctor. And then something changed. The anti-depressants won't make you happy, she told me. Would they make me numb though? I sat in the waiting room this morning unsure why I was there because unlike every other visit, today I had nothing to say. I was feeling nothing.

DENIAL. I'm right back at stage 1 of grieving. I've shut down. I've put my guard up. It's not happening. It's getting so close to the end. He is so unwell. I can't function anymore. I can only function by blocking it out. It scares me, because in my happy little bubble, it's going to be horrible when it pops. In my little world where it just isn't happening, its going to hit me like a tonne of bricks when 'it' happens.

I cried when I asked her how long. I cried when I asked her what would happen. But then off I went to work like I had been to see her about a rash, something meaningless and normal.

I've cried a lot tonight. I was going to write this earlier. Denial would have been an accurate description of where I'm at right now then. But my dad was awake so I went to sit with him. And I cried. I cried my heart out. He was dozing so he didn't see. I have to be strong for him. I forced the tears to stop so I could read to him, but I had to fight the occasional voice cracking moment. Today I was so certain of where my head was at. It wasn't where it needed to be but at least I knew where it was. Now I'm confused. What stage am I at? How am I coping? Is this normal? There can't be set stages of grief if you keep jumping around them all at random.

Happy?

VixyLou1986 — Mon, 16 Jan 2012 19:12:00 GMT

Is it ok to feel happy? Is it ok to feel excited? Maybe its just a high from all the jelly babies.

I woke up with that same Monday morning feeling, is the weekend really over again already? Just another day at work. I enjoy my job, I enjoy my friends... and most importantly its a distraction. They say a smile is contagious. Katie smiles like a cheshire cat all day long so its difficult not to be happy around her. Today I feel like I've been too happy though. Too happy and too excitable. Like I have totally forgotten everything else that is going on in my life. It's nice to feel normal but the inevitable guilt always comes with it.

Katie's rugby playing boyfriend is flying off to Australia to play for 9 months in March, and he has asked her to go with him. So all day we have been excitedly planning, giddy with excitement. That's fine, its ok to be happy for your friend; makes a change from the jealousy I've been feeling the past 11 months that everything in life seems to go everyone elses way but my own. The guilt comes from my own planning. My own planning to move to be with my boyfriend. We have been long distance for 4 and a half years and before Christmas he finally landed a job down in London. I battled with myself for weeks over moving with him or staying with my dad. The decision was always going to be my dad. But with the news that my dad didn't have long left, my planning to move began. I feel such immense guilt that I am already planning my life afterwards, even more so at my happiness and excitement at the thoughts of moving I had today.

It can only be denial. I am far from acceptance because I cannot stand the thought of losing my dad. So much so that I have completely blocked it out. When I plan, I feel happy but how can I possibly feel happy at that time in my life. I forget what has to happen before the exciting move. And how can the move be exciting when I think that my whole life has to crumble before I can rebuild it?

Is it ok to feel so happy when things are so terrible? I know that it is largely because I can't accept what is happening whilst my dad is still here, snoring away downstairs. "You can only cope as you do", "You can't always feel sad" say my doctor and counsellor. How can I feel happiness when times are so hard? How can I plan for a happy life without him in it? Sometimes I hope people will say it is ok to feel happy, because then it means its not so bad, but deep down I can't fight the guilt. You can tell me its normal and that its ok but I don't see how it can be.

I was giddy and excited when I started this blog... all is back to normal though, thinking about my guilt and the true situation has put me right back to where I feel comfortable, feeling the way I think I should feel.

Moonface & The Slippery Slip

VixyLou1986 — Sat, 14 Jan 2012 21:13:01 GMT

My dad is sleeping a lot at the moment.

I read him a few chapters of The Magic Faraway Tree a few nights ago, the story he read to me and my brother night after night when we were young. It meant so much to me. But it was the ultimate bedtime story, knocked him out for days! I didn't see him awake for 2 days after that. You would think I would have learnt my lesson... but when I finally got some time with him last night I read him a few more chapters, and now he is back frolicking in the land of nod with Moonface & co.

I can say it as a joke because I've got my guard up at the moment; the shield that stops my mind from racing, my chest from tightening, my hands from shaking. Its a coping mechanism they say, but I can't help but feel I give off a carefree vibe when I speak this way, when deep inside I care so very much. It kills me that some days I can't sit with him, and talk with him, even if just for a short time.

When time is it's most precious with him, it suddenly feels so limited.

It's Not Fair

VixyLou1986 — Wed, 11 Jan 2012 21:06:08 GMT

Hi There!

I've never been a great talker. If something is on my mind I can sit for hours telling you what's wrong in my head when you ask, but I can't find the words to verbalise it. I find it easier to write things down, my mum jokes it would be easier to get answers out of me if she just text me even when she's sat in the room with me. I find writing things down easier to do, I can think about what I want to say, I don't miss anything out. I joined this community last week, so just to introduce myself, and the situation to anyone reading this that hasn't already read what I wrote, and to avoid crying as I write a fresh one, I've copied and pasted my introductory discussion that I posted below. Because as good, and cathartic, as writing may be at times, sometimes it just brings it all back to the forefront of your mind when you just need to leave it in that little box for a while just to catch a breath and feel normal.

It's not fair. It's not fair. It's not fair. Catchphrase of the week right there. I don't really know what to say, I don't know how much of a back story to give, or just what to say at all. I've always worried about my little brother, his dad (my step dad) was 57 when he was born, he was always going to lose his dad at a younger age than anyone should have to be without their dad. I never thought it would happen to me, its one of them things that happens on the news, that happens to other people. My step dad is fine, you wouldn't know he is 71 from the way he gets around. It's my own daddy that's not. He's only 48. He has never done anything wrong. I can't say that anyone deserves a brain tumour, but my dad REALLY doesn't.

He was diagnosed in February 2011 - he originally went a few weeks before but he was dismissed from the doctor's surgery with a virus!!! He went back two weeks later to see a different doctor (the doctor who has been the most amazing caring woman I have ever experienced in a doctors surgery) and was rushed to hospital for an MRI. He was still happy and positive. They booked him in to have it removed and told him he would be out by the weekend, and back on his feet in 3 weeks - he even went out and bought himself a bike to get around until he could have his driving license back. I haven't seen my dad walk unaided since February. I haven't seen him walk at all since about October.

Between 6 and 18 months I had in my head until 28th December 2011. It wasn't a long time but I felt like I had him completely ripped away from me on Wednesday. 2 months the doctor now thinks (it may be just a coincidence that he has gone downhill since they decided to end the chemotherapy but I have my doubts...) My dad doesn't know because we don't want him to give up, but all he does now is sleep. I've spent all the time possible with him since February, I've been the doting daughter by his bedside since the start, so I don't have my regrets, but I do feel that now when I know my time with him is limited, because he is always so tired, I can't spend those precious moments with him as much as I would like anymore.

I'm so lost. And confused. And angry. And upset. And feel utterly hopeless. I know it's tragic at any age, but he is just so young. I need him. I don't know how I will go on, or deal with things in life without him. It's just so unfair!