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Wednesday, January 28, 2009

Birthday girl!


Lola turned 2 yesterday, sharing her birthday with her Dad who turned 40 and her friend Clover - also turning 2.

I can’t believe she is growing up so fast - cliched but true. Already she has said goodbye to babyhood and acts more and more like a little girl every day. Gone is the crib, the bottles, and almost the diapers. Moving out of diapers will be a godsend, but I’m not sure really when it will happen. She was very excited about using the potty a week or so ago, but now the novelty seems to have worn off. Like all these things though, the change is always easier than we anticipate.

She and Oliver are really getting on much better now too, he seems less frustrated with her. As Lolie starts putting sentences together and understanding more - eg “No that’s Olivers” they are, surprise, surprise growing closer.

As for Steven, he’s taking turning 40 in his stride. We went out to dinner with Damon and Michelle and the swank new Craft. The food was over fussy for my liking and not tremendously tasty - and the service was God awful. They gave us free desserts to make up for it which was great. It was fun, a change, great atmosphere. But for good food give me Gjelina’s any day.

So Happy Birthday dear ones. Lolie - you’re growing up to be a bundle of mischief and daring-do. I love your complete fearlessness and your endless generosity. And Steven, well baby, you know I love you :)


Monday, January 26, 2009

Dearest Grandpops


Dad died on December 18th 2008. It is almost February and only now, the memorial service having passed by, that I can bring myself to write about it. I’ve been so thrown back into the day to day domesticity of life, it is easy, infact, to put sad thoughts behind you and not really to dwell on what has come to pass. Esther has given me a bunch of the condolences cards that people have sent and I still can’t bring myself to read them.

It was not an easy departure for Dad. He fought bitterly to the end, still trying to sit up, even stand up, when Esther and I could barely hold him up. The last day we were so tired ourselves, I’d been sick too and with the bitter cold and snow outside we had hardly left the house. I’d been reading The Ancient Mariner and Yeats to Dad, which I like to think he enjoyed. Although at that point he was no longer talking to us and it is hard to say how present he was. We sat trying to juggle the medicines to make him as comfortable as possible, and just when we felt he was, we realized he had left us. The main feeling at that point was relief. Relief that he could go in peace, finally, after a cruel and swift illness that ravaged him so entirely.

Most of the time I feel quite normal. I go about my daily life, there are kids to be fed and dressed, plans to be made… It’s the unexpected moments that hit you hardest. The memories you think to share, before realizing, yet again that he is gone. Christmas morning, birthdays, the children’s precious unforgettable discoveries.

I will miss you Dad. I will miss your wit, your fierce intelligence, your loving enormous heart, your silliness and sense of fun. As someone recalled you once saying, happiness is just a thread of small delights, and you gave us all so very many of them. In your absence we will strive every day to love each other to the point of foolishness. You will always, always be in our hearts.

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