Text overload, I know, but I really wanted to get all this stuff down Smile

Dear Dad
Oh my goodness, if I thought it hard to write to Mum, it’s harder still to write these words to you. First things first. You were christened John but you were always Jack. Love that. And it’s been 37 years since you were released from the pain of your cancer. I was only 16 when Mum was told that you had between one and three weeks to live - although she only told me that afterwards. I was told you weren’t going to get better but I never thought it would happen. I never thought you’d be gone. It seems barbaric now to think that you were never told of your illness. I don’t know why it was like that. Oh, you knew something was wrong but I think that’s how they handled things back then. I know Mum wanted to tell you but she was guided by the Doctors who advised her not to. I know she struggled with that. After diagnosis you suffered on for two months. They said that your strong heart was the only thing keeping you going. I was in the middle of my O-levels and I came home after writing my French exam and it was all over. Mum had opened the curtains wide and I knew you’d gone. 42 Rosemead seemed eerie somehow. Mum took it all in her stride. I don’t know how she remained so strong - on the outside anyhow. She said she’d been through it before with her Mum and Dad, and that it gets easier each time you lose someone. I still wonder if that’s true or whether as we get older we’re just more accepting of it, especially if there’s pain and suffering. Your death was the first I’d experienced as I never knew any of my grandparents and I’ve always felt saddened that, after working so hard all your life, you never got to enjoy retirement. I had 16 short years with you. I know you spoilt me. I was the baby. You were a big softie with us girls but I think you were a lot stricter with the boys. I recall you taking me up to L Davies at Fishers Lane each week to buy me a small toy. I’d sit on the back of the armchair behind you and you’d let me put all my hairslides in your hair and give you silly little bunches! You kept the gardens beautifully at Heswall House and looked after the boiler room. You’d often bring Mum dahlia’s that you’d grown there, and tomatoes and onions. I remember the lily pond. You’d take me there sometimes at the weekend and the old dears would give me sweets and they’d send Easter eggs for me at Easter and selection boxes at Christmas. You used to be Father Christmas for them each year. And you enjoyed relating their stories and how the cat used to chase the Jack Russell. You always peeled oranges for me as I hate peeling them and to this day, I won’t ever eat an orange unless it’s peeled for me. You used to sharpen my pencils with your penknife and there’d always be a soft piece, a groove, where I held each pencil. While there was never any money for holidays, you’d take us on day trips in the Summer to places all over the UK. You’d get the brochure from the bus station and you’d plan and book the trips we’d take each year. I was about four when this photo of you and I was taken. We were on a boat on the river in Stratford and it’s my favourite photo of you. It’s exactly how I remember you. I always thought you were a good looking chap! As the others got older and were working, it was just you, Mum and I on the trips, and you’d still spoil me then. You’d help me with my high school maths and I still work out percentages like you taught me. You’d take me to see Auntie Frances and Uncle Ted in Bristol and Uncle Ted would take us for days out. Back home, you’d take Mum and I shopping in Chester and Birkenhead. I still have the sheepskin gloves you bought me in the Co-op in Birkenhead. I used them a lot in college the same year that you died. I left them in all sorts of places by accident and I’d be heart- sore but they’d always turn up or someone would hand them in. You used to play the horses and you had strange methods of working out which ones you were going to play. Sometimes you’d ask us for a number and then you’d do something with a pack of cards and then mark your newspaper. Other times you shook a dice and used the cards. None of us know how you arrived at which horse to bet on! Flat caps, cider and fob watches always remind me of you. Flat caps because you nearly always wore one. Cider because you didn’t drink alcohol but you liked a cider at Christmas. And fob watches because I remember you having one. There’s the old naval trunk too that was your great grandfathers. It used to give me the creeps but Fred has cleaned it up nicely - now it’s beautiful. I remember too that you always called me ‘Bab’ for baby and I hated it back then. How I’d love to hear you call me that today. It’s a strange old life. So much has changed since you left. I have two girls and two step-sons who I know you’d have adored. I have two beautiful grandsons and four beautiful step- grandchildren that I so wish you were around for. Jodie named her firstborn Jack. But I know you’re looking down on us all, just like Mum is. I just wish Vincent and the kids had the chance to know you. I really hope you and Mum are sitting comfortably on a little bench by a clump of dahlia’s somewhere up there, you with a glass of cider and her with a Mackies, having a good old chuckle and enjoying the show down here. Love you Dad. Always and forever.

All Designer Digitals

Katie Pertiet
Watery Blumes No. 02
Ripped Photo Frame Stacks No. 01
Terra Botanica Add-on Paper Pack
Terra Botanica Element Pack
Folia Element Pack
Almost Spring Element Pack
Chandra Element Pack
Crowning Affair: Understated Element Pack
Sun Porch Element Pack
Yesteryear Element Pack
Almost There Element Pack
Fresh Vintage: Clare Element Pack
Fresh Vintage: Albia Element Pack
Fresh Vintage: Albia Washi Clusters
Maybe Tomorrow Element Pack - Alpha
Life Lines Element Pack - 'J' pebble
Fresh Vintage Blends No. 01
Letter Box Blendables No. 01
Clustered Brushwork No. 01
Worth Repeating Brushes and Stamps No. 25

Lynn Grieveson
Ripped and Stitched: Record It

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