I’ve been feeling lost lately, almost like I’m slowing down whilst the world and everyone in it keeps rushing past in a blur.
It makes me panicky and uneasy.
Unsettled, like I need to take off and go somewhere.
I get like this every year in the run up to Christmas.
It will be 13 years this Christmas since my dad died, and I still haven’t got my head round the fact that he’s not here.
It seems ridiculous that a person who had such an impact on my life; who still influences my reactions and decisions hasn’t been here for such a long time.
We fought, argued and hated with a passion, yet we still loved, talked and laughed.
He cheated death so many times I became complacent to him ever leaving us, he was a guy who’d survived bomb explosions, heart attacks and the bottle, until one day he was just gone.
No warning, no nothing, just gone.
I was a daddy’s girl, the tom boy who would listen to his stories, nab his whisky and search through his vinyl collection for something to listen to.
I miss the stories, the cheeky drinks when everyone else was asleep and discovering a shared interest in music.
I miss that no one calls me Curly anymore, but I’d hate whoever tried.
I hate that it still hurts so much after all this time.
I’m a mum now, I have my own kids, but today I feel like a little girl, who’s lost and just wants her daddy back.