Milestones & gravestones

Most days come and go without incident. You get up and go about your day. Things happen. Some stick with you a while, some don't, but nothing makes a lasting impression. 

And then there are days - & dates - that you know will stick with you for the rest of your life.  

June 29th is one of those dates for me. June 29th 2001 is one of those days specifically. Who am I kidding with my 'one of'? This is the date, the one that's burned into my brain more deeply than any other. Some years it kind of creeps up on me. Last year was one of those years. I was working and I went to put a date on a letter. June 29th. Holy fuck, I'd forgotten. It's that day. And it all came flooding back.

I remember that day so well. I remember the week well. Hell I remember the month. It was as formative a time in my life as any other, filled with milestones. I finished school on my 17th birthday, May 21st, and pushed on into my leaving cert in June. I finished with my history paper on June 20th. By the time I got to history, I felt comfortable enough in the prior 6 exams to know I was probably going to pass my leaving cert. I was also confident in the fact that I was going to fail history no matter how hard I tried. Our teacher had changed 3 times in 2 years and I'd used that to justify my detachment in the class. So what better way to spend the early afternoon then drinking vodka and orange juice with my friend Ronan, before wandering up to the exam, writing my name on the paper, siting for 30 minutes then walking out? And so I did. We went to Malahide to play snooker and celebrate our independence from teachers for the afternoon. I awoke on the couch several hours later, having finished off that vodka. Whoops. (Oh, and I did pass my leaving. Just about!)

Sunday 24th came and I went over to my Dad's house in the evening. He had sky sports and I would go there to watch WWF shows. We spent the evening together. He was curiously chatty. In the 3 years after he fractured his skull, I never did have lengthy conversations with Des. He wasn't himself. It hurt me to talk to who he had become, I missed who he was. And I think deep down he felt a sadness, maybe even a shame. Head injuries do terrible things to people. He had been a proud and powerful man, one third owner of Uk & Ireland freight company Hales Freight (still going strong today), always driving a flashy car, very into his appearance. He fancied himself a wheeler dealer man about town like Del-boy Trotter, only with better wheels. That was 1998. By 2001, that person was gone. It sounds cruel but he had declined so significantly in so many ways after the accident, ways which are hard to talk about even now. I didn't know it then but I know it now - it just plain broke my heart to see him like that. 

It was the most self aware I'd seen him since the accident that evening. He spoke of how hard the previous decade had been on him. My God was he right! Between 1993 & 2001, his wife had left him for his very own best friend, he fractured his skull which left him in a coma for 3 months, hospital for a year & permanently brain damaged, then he'd lost both his parents in close succession. If Dessie looked a broken man in those years, it's probably because he was. He told me he hoped that the future would be brighter. He spoke of his idea of opening up a bar in Spain, living & working there. I had no idea how this would work - he could not work in Ireland following the head injury, forget running a pub - nor what that meant for his children. But to hear him speak of his own future with a vague plan and a sense of responsibility for his destiny was encouraging, warming. Still, the whole while we spoke, he was coughing and spluttering very, very badly. He always did. He was smoking very heavily and drinking all day. I have never been the type to nag anyone with their addictions, even then, but I had to ask "Dad will you ever give up those fags? If you don't stop this lifestyle, you'll be dead in five years". I believed it when I said it but...I suppose I didn't really believe it at the same time, you know? 

I flew out to Birmingham the next morning, Monday 25th, and commuted to Leamington Spa, where I spent the week with my first girlfriend, Jess. Even now, those memories are as saccharine tinged & rose tinted as anything else in my life. The first time you fall in love is a special thing. We spent a wonderful week together, the type you see in films. Carefree, head over heels, puppy love. This is the part I mention something that might be a bit TMI, but I think it's pertinent to my story. On Thursday, the 28th June, I lost my virginity with Jess. You're not getting any more details than that, except that it was exactly as awkward and terrible as your first time was 😉 The next evening we spent a couple hours in the park then went back to Jess' house. I so vividly remember cuddling up in her bed listening to music, looking over at the clock - 9pm Friday night the 29th - and having this dual sensation of "this is incredible" married with a nagging "but it's almost too perfect" anxiety. I guess I knew.

I was sleeping in a local B&B and then spending all my days with Jess. I got to her house about 10 the next morning. Alex, Jess' Dad, opened the door to me. He was notably off colour as he pulled me into the house. He told me, no more and no less, that I couldn't leave and I had to wait in Jess' house. For what? "Your Mum is coming over, she needs to speak to you". This part, truthfully, I wouldn't wish on anyone. I was only 17 but I was perceptive enough to work out that if my mother was going to the airport, buying a very expensive last minute flight to Birmingham, and coming to my girlfriends house to talk to me, then she had news. Bad news. Someone was dead. Right? Someone had to be dead. I spent the next 4 hours chewing this over with Jess, who didn't know any more than I (I am sure her Dad did but he never let on, nor was it his place to). I found myself in the unenviable position of trying to work out who it was. X + Y = Z. This is maths I'd never wish on my worst enemy. I kept crying and praying it was not Tracey or Niall. They were too young. Then I would immediately feel guilt. By proxy, am I wishing death on my father by wishing it wasn't Niall or Tracey? Of course not. But I could imagine it, he was not healthy. Minutes passed like hours. Tick tock, tick tock. 2pm came and went. At some point thereafter, my mum arrived. There was the briefest of brief introductions to Jess' family and Michelle took me upstairs to Jess' room. Jess' room, where life had seemed so perfect the night before. Almost too perfect. "It's your Dad..." she started. She didn't need to finish. I burst into tears. On June 24th, I told my Dad that with his lifestyle, he'd be gone in 5 years. I was wrong. He was gone in 5 days. A massive heart attack. June 29th 2001.

Dad and I...at Wembley, and when I was a baby.

This past Wednesday, Carra randomly started asking me questions about 'Grandad Dessie' as she calls him. How did he die? How did he hurt his head? Why did his heart stop? Are you sad he's gone Dada? Back to back to back with these questions. I answered in about as light a manner as I think is humanly possible considering. It brought up a lot of feelings and emotions for me, and once I'd escaped Carra and the act of hiding them, some of them came out. "It feels like a lifetime ago." I remarked. And then I realised. It was. My lifetime with my Dad was 17 years. Today, I have lived 17 years without him. You're gone a lifetime Dad...where did it go? It still feels like yesterday.

I am an emotional person, an empath. I feel things, all day every day. How I manage to pose as a normal human being and convince people I'm not an absolute basket case I don't know. Or maybe you're not all really convinced and you just play along? Anyway. One thing I've become aware of through the process of therapy is retraumatization. Putting yourself through it all over again. Why do it? I can see I spent much of my late teens and early 20's reliving the nightmare of my early-mid teens and my father's death. I put down that particular big bag of rocks a while back and my life has been much the better for it. Lighter. As you might have guessed it would be.

But a sense of duty runs through me, and there have been several years like last year where I just went into work and went about my day. And in hindsight, that was my attempt at bullshitting myself. I can't be that person, it isn't me. June 29th is not just a day to me, it's the day. Forget about for me, Des deserves to be remembered today. I remember you Dad. I fucking miss you. I don't miss what we had, I'm sad for what we never got to have. God how you would love sitting in my heat trap back garden watching the world cup every evening. I even sit in a recliner, just like yours. I didn't fall too far from the tree. And how I wish you could meet your grandkids. You'd be such the fun Grandad. I have your passion Dad, your emotion, your sensitivity, your fucking never ending river of tears! Christ Dad you've no idea how awkward life has been being a 'cryer'. Well, actually, you probably do. And I look like you. You wouldn't get away with denying me, let me tell you.

Today I went to my Dad's grave. I am not a big grave person but for the day that's in it, I went. It's the home of the end, the sadness. I remember that vividly. Seeing the coffin lowered. Hearing the first beats of the Foo's "My Hero" playing in my head. I never saw my Dad as my hero consciously, but apparently subconsciously I did. "Don't the best of them bleed it out? While the rest of them peter out...". sang Dave Grohl. Fuckin' ay Dave, you had it right. I talked to him for a while. And then, my little companion piped up. "Dada, can I talk to grandad Dessie before we go?" she asked. "Of course you can Carra" I replied. "Well Grandad Dessie, today I had my graduation from school and now I'm going to go to BIG SCHOOL!!!" she began, and off she went for a few minutes telling him about her life and her day. "Dada can I sing Grandad Dessie one of my songs from school?" she wanted to know. As part of their graduation, Carra's class had learned a few songs that they'd performed for us. This is the one she sang for her Grandad: 

"I am special,

 I am special,

 Look at me,

 You will see,

 Someone very special,

 Someone very special,

 Yes that's me,

 Yes that's me."

To stand there and watch my oldest daughter, the source of so much of the happiness in my life, sing a song about how special she was to my father who is gone 17 years - a lifetime - today...I don't know I have ever experienced something quite so bittersweet. The pain at knowing the two will never meet juxtaposed with the pride & joy in the person Carra is. I don't know if they were sad tears or happy tears, but I can tell you there were tears.

I cannot put this day to bed on sadness, on misery. Just as I owe it to my Dad to remember him, I believe he would want me to be happy. And guess what? I might be emotional and sentimental and neurotic and I am damn sure not perfect. But I am happy. Which brings me to Carra.

In 2001, I faced into change. School was over, I met a girl and became a 'man', and then boom, my Dad died. You don't hit many milestones in life but in June 2001, fuck, I was like a pinball bouncing from one to the other. Milestones are the theme of the day. Finishing preschool and facing into 'big school' feels so big for Carra, a huge milestone of her own. She's not a baby anymore, not a toddler. She's becoming her own little person. It's very tangible in how she speaks, how she behaves. We've also just started a pocket money system with her too, where she has to behave herself well and do the odd 'chore'(loose use of the term!) to earn some money. She's learning about making her own decisions and the consequences that come with that. And it is here, in her, where I find my silver lining. Dad, you may have died in vain but I have tried to find some light amongst that dark, some reason, a consolation. And it's my relationship with my girls.

I am an egoic person - low self esteem but occasionally high opinion of himself. As such I have always been driven to achieve in whatever I did, especially my career. My twenties were spent forging a career in Carole Nash. I wanted to move up the corporate ladder. That identity was so important to me. People would ask me about myself and it would be the first thing I'd tell them after my name. I loved my job. I was driven to help the company and I wanted to feel important in my place of work, responsible, valued. My friend Brian Donohoe would constantly refer to me as a 'company man', his subtle jab at how brand loyal I was. When Carra came along, I was experiencing health issues and I began working part time, temporarily. In the time since, I have had multiple opportunities in three different companies to come back to working full time. There is much that appeals to me. More money naturally would be nice. But more than that, I would love the feeling of identity again, I would love the opportunity to grow and develop into new roles. The one major drawback of being part time is pretty much any company you work for is going to need you there more than 3 days a week if you want to become an integral part of the business, whether that be in training, HR, management etc. I have a passion for developing people and I really miss that, I loved doing it in Carole Nash, I was really good at it. People just don't see the potential in themselves. I have a huge interest in HR. I could go on but you get the picture. All of these avenues I would like to pursue, I have chosen to put on the back burner. Because of the impact that losing my Dad had on me. When I do the sums, there is no amount of money that would make it worth my while to miss hours and days with my children. They're too important, not for me, but for them. Not only did Des die when I was 17 but he had been gone much of the prior decade. He worked abroad for a couple years, then obviously wasn't living with us after Michelle had shacked up with his 'best friend' so our time with him was limited. And he was very committed to his work and social life, before the accident which essentially took him away 3 years before he died. He just wasn't around much. If that was unfortunate at the time, it was downright tragic once he was gone. I would like to think that given the opportunity to do life over again, there would be less late evenings, Saturdays and Sundays at his desk in his office.

The most valuable currency my children have is not €, it's time. I firmly believe that. Spending so much time with Carra has enabled us to develop a beautiful relationship, a wonderful bond. (I feel a need to point out this is no slight to my wonderful little Bayley. She is the happiest human being I have ever known and a constant source of light and smiles in my life, I love her with all of my heart. I am writing about Carra specifically because of the point she's at in life.) Carra is a complicated bundle of emotion, thought and feeling. She is emphatically independent and this puts her into conflict a lot because she wants to do things she can't or do things on her own that she shouldn't. But she is also an empath like her old man, with a strong desire to make people happy. The desire to assert herself mixed with her desire to make people happy often conflict and this leaves her greatly upset, either that she cannot do what she wants, or that she has done what she shouldn't and someone (teacher, mom, dad, etc) is not impressed. She is hyper sensitive and very emotional, just like me which only makes it harder for her. Sometimes my heart breaks for her because I think "Oh God, she's going to have to live life like I did" and BOY was that exhausting until I got a handle on it in my twenties. 

However, she has advantages I never did. She has stability at home, and understanding from her parents. We don't view her as bold for trying to assert herself, We view her as confident. I don't see her as a whiner because she cries a lot, I view her as my delicate little flower. It's my job - along with MT - to nurture that. To ensure that the confidence which allows her get up on stage in the Gaiety Theatre age 4 is developed. And I will always believe that to this point, having me consistently around has been a huge boost to that. Carra is very clingy. She needs us. She still, aged 5, won't go to bed without either Mom or Dad. This is not something which developed. She was this way since birth. We would try and break the habit. We tried letting her 'cry it out' a bunch of times, but on every single occasion she would make herself so upset crying so loud & so long that she vomited all over herself and her cot. Her desire to have our company was that intense. This makes it doubly apparent the value in being with us. Luckily, MT is only in work 4 days as well as me just being in 3. All told there are only 2 days a week we are both in work. The rest of Carra's life is spent with her parents, who understand her and love her unconditionally. With someone so sensitive and so delicate, it's impossible to measure just how integral that has been in her development, but I would be willing to bet that were she stuck in creche for 40 hours a week, and her parents were exhausted & cranky every evening from the grind of M-F, 9 - 5, she would not have developed quite as magnificently as she has. 

Then there's the stability at home. I don't want to claim to have the perfect marriage - you will be shocked to know that MT & I do occasionally argue! - but my wife & I love, respect & value each other very much and we prioritise our family unit above all else. I am not trying to settle scores because I believe Des & Michelle loved us very much, but growing up with them it was constantly apparent they didn't like each other a lot and that created a feeling of instability, as well as making their conflict first priority, and us kids second, which bred insecurity and low self esteem in me that I still battle today. I hope and believe Carra won't experience that.

Today, JUNE 29TH lest we forget, she was graduating school. Her teacher described her as thus: "She's our quirky, positive, happy go lucky girl - Carra loves to try new things and engage with her friends. She is constantly singing and dancing throughout the day, and we're going to miss her dance off's with her friend Amelia!". Now how about that! Quirky, positive, happy go lucky, tries new things and forever singing and dancing. I can't tell you how complimented I'd be if anyone described me as quirky, happy go lucky and positive! Hearing that about the little missus I helped create was next-level joy. What that means to me is she is exactly there as she is at home. That is also a credit to the environment provided by Pinocchios', her preschool, by the way. From Carra though, that takes real confidence and happiness. I take more pride than anyone reading this can know in that. She is a little fucking marvel, pardon my French. And she's going to be a gymnast as well as a singer & dancer...

Of course, I accept the inevitability that as a parent, it is my birth right to in my own way fuck up my children somehow. Maybe she'll feel like I smothered her? Who knows. I accept that I won't be perfect at this parenting gig. I also know that there are a lot of things I have struggled with in life - addiction, relationships, health...erm...algebra - but one I haven't is parenting. I am a good Dad. I know that. If nothing else, I know my Dad would be happy with that. I hope you're proud of me Dessie, I really do. I miss you. Not just today, but the other 364 days a year as well. 

June 29th. It will always resonate with me. It will always be THE day. Maybe now though, at least I can recall my beautiful little butterfly in her graduation gown as well as my Pops taking his last breath, and maybe I'll even afford myself a smile. After all, being the 'middle man' between two such luminous, vibrant and passionate people...what do I have to be sad about?