Half a lifetime

Today's the day, half a lifetime ago, my dad died. It's hard to believe that, for me, he's been gone as long as he was alive.

And the truth is, it doesn't seem to matter how much time passes, but I still miss him. Especially today. I'm not sure why, but maybe it's the half life thing that's really gotten to me. Or maybe it's because when things were less than perfect, he either helped me not care or came to my defense.

He, himself wasn't perfect - I mean an alcoholic Irish man with bad parenting skills ? how could that be perfect? But in many ways he was better to me than anyone in my life since. But then again, maybe that's just because we were father and daughter.

But he would have stood up for me. Like when my brother didn't turn up to my farewell party the day I moved from Canada to Australia (the excuse was lame, so I won't even bother) he would have gone to his house and dragged him down. I wouldn't have had to just suck it up and pretend it was okay. Like this week, when another brother came up with an equally feeble excuse to not pick me up from the airport when I was going to visit him, my Dad would have made him, or even better, picked me up himself.

I miss that. I miss having someone I can rely on unquestioningly. I guess I was lucky.

When my dad died, I couldn't have imagined this many years without him. It saddens me that so much time has passed, but at the same time, it comforts and amazes me that the sense of loss has diminished, but his influence and presence has not.