Father's Day

OK, it may not actually be the first Sunday of September, but in my house, 7th October is Father's Day.

It has been since 1996 when my Dad died on this day. It was sudden, and yet not sudden. Dad had been sick since I was 3, but it wasn't a physical illness and it wasn't something that doctors ever got right.

He'd had a bugger of a life, there's no other way of putting it really. He grew up with elderly parents, his Mum was 42, and his Dad 50 when he was born, and he was the youngest. His aunt lived with them and she was very disturbed from what she had witnessed during WW1 and earlier. His early life was plain miserable in many ways. At 13, he was a partisan fighter in Czechoslovakia, and his Mum hid two Jewish women in the house to protect them. His father was Jewish by birth, and the whole family was at risk. She was an amazing woman, and extremely strong. She did the right things.

In marrying two women with the same birthday, he committed a very unusual act indeed. He loved them both, but was a lousy husband. He had a step-daughter first time around, and me the second time around. He wasn't that flash as a Dad either really.

Nobody had heard of post-traumatic stress disorder in the 70's in Australia. Nobody had any concept really. It was a very Anglo-centric place to live, and Dad and his experiences were foreign. So the label Paranoid Schizophrenic was put on him, and years of failed therapy continued on ad nauseum.

Finally in 1989, he decided enough was enough and moved out of the second marriage. A good thing on all counts. My mother while some consider an amazing woman was a shocking awful wife, unsupportive, controlling and revengeful. Still, he loved her and would not hear a word against her.

This move resulted in another big geographic move too. To live near me. To be part of my weekly life, which on occasion I resented. I was in my 20's with 3 young children and a husband doing long hours. The added pressure of an old man in a nursing home that needed visiting and kindness wasn't really what I wanted.

But he took to his new life, new doctor and new role as a Grandfather with great happiness. He still lacked a great number of things, but he was a happy man.

It seemed I had a second chance to be a daughter, having left home at 17. I'm not sure I took full advantage of it, but I did try, and I know he appreciated it. He came alive whenever he saw his grandsons, he grinned his toothless grin, and they sat and played with his long beard. He battled crowds to watch them perform 4 year old gymnastics and never complained about anything.

If I am a patient person now, and some say I am, then I learned it from this man.

He battled the odds, failed a lot of them, but remains one of the biggest influences in my life, and I probably love him more now after 12 years of reminiscing and mental jigsaws than I did when he was breathing. I have so many wishes and wants that I can't go back and retrieve, but his face smiles down at me while I write and work, and I know that I do owe him.

I owe him for his strength, his patience, and his total commitment to his family.

To put it simply - Dad Loved.

Thanks Dad. I love you too.

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