Always Daddy's girl

I continue to learn from the memories I have of him

A friend wrote about the nature of grief today, over two years after her father passed. Its been over 22 years since I last saw, heard and held mine.

Daddy. He was my person. My anchor, my guide, my playmate, everything rolled into one. And when he left us, I tried to be strong for too long. I tried to carry his presence with me in utter denial of his death. I tried too hard, for too long. Then that trying become a part of me.

His memories surface at the slightest hint. Digging into my own published online entries, I found this one from 2013, where I remember him through my interactions with my young daughter. In a slightly older post, I wrote about Daddy’s inflexible moral compass. A few months ago, around Father’s Day, I had penned this entry in my journal. Re-reading it today, I was tempted to share it, for the way I try to see myself in him, for how much I appreciate him even today, when memories are all I have. There is do doubt whatsoever - I will always be Daddy’s girl!

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I may not have countless pictures with my Daddy, though there are many. But I have countless memories of the time we spent together. Perhaps the mind has retained emotional and sensory impressions from those days when we were less obsessed with visual documentation.

Daddy was a workaholic, and it was always a task to tear him away for a vacation. One knew he was in holiday mode when he eschewed his standard trousers and shirts and donned blue jeans and tees instead. I always imagined that singular pair of jeans as forlorn, sitting solo in a separate pile earmarked for denim, waiting eagerly for the bi-annual vacations when they would be worn.

Daddy & I

Once disconnected from the context of his work, Daddy was always overcome with childlike enthusiasm and energy. He threw himself into the activities Mummy had planned - oh yes, she was and is a planner - with great gusto. He was very social, making friends easily, which added a lot of banter and play to our family trips. It was completely normal for Daddy and me to spend long train journeys with newly made friends, playing card games and antakshari (I am so sad our children don't share enough of a music vocabulary with us to play), while Mum climbed into the upper berth and retreated into a happy solo routine of reading and long snoozes.

He dipped into new experiences in an uncomplicated and light-hearted way. Mummy was always intense, pursuing knowledge about ecology, culture and heritage wherever we went. Daddy was happy following her lead and was really accomplished at living in the moment. I get a little bit of both my parent's travel attitudes. The Mummy side usually wins, but the Daddy side also kicks in when I allow it to.

I allowed it more often on our recent family trip to the US and really enjoyed the results. I had so many good times with Daddy, the absent-minded Professor who often adopted the role of the comic, keeping things simple, light and real. Who does this for my children, I wonder?