Hey Daddy

Letter 2

Hey Daddy,

                      I wish the second letter was easier than the first but it’s really not. It’s still hard to decipher the thoughts I’m having. It’s hard trying to forget the beeping of your machines. However, I hear them religiously. I can’t block them out unless there’s something playing in my ears. It sucks knowing you’re not here anymore. It just doesn’t feel real still.

   Your funeral was beautiful. Craig finally broke down and let all his grief out. Well, some of it. The funniest memory of the day was gran calling him your brother. He was in the middle of helping her into the car and she went, “You’re Billy’s brother.” And well, that made Craig grin like a Cheshire cat. It was funny because it made us smile.

      I broke down when Uncle Tam came up to me and called me Marples. My childhood nickname from him. But the uncanny resemblance between you and Uncle Jimmy was evident. People actually thought it was you walking in. Sadly, it wasn’t. I wish it was though. Uncle Jimmy was diagnosed with diabetes too. Ten years ago. So basically the year that Auntie Ann died. Strange, isn’t it?

    Mum’s still so lost with things. She spaces out, keeps waiting on you walking through the door with your zimmer. And I do too. I always expect you to be sitting on your bed, eating your breakfast or asking mum to administer your insulin injections.  My mind seems to be playing tricks on me at times. It always seems to be expecting the thing to become unfazed and you’re sitting there. Laughing and joking like you always are.

     I miss your moods, because it showed that were in fact human too. Not just some pin cushion with all the medication you were on. I miss your smile, your Santa Claus beard, your voice and you. It just feels as if it’s a faint memory. A small inkling of the person you once were. Pictures of you smiling don’t do you justice. It was much nicer in person. The things you came out with were some of the funniest things you could’ve said for a while. And most of them were every day.

     Today - eighth July - is your fifty-ninth birthday, and laying flowers on your grave just doesn’t begin to explain the hurt we’re all still feeling. I wanted to break down and just sit and speak to you without anyone hearing, but I couldn’t. It’d make me look as if I had actually lost my marbles. Mum can’t handle the pressure she’s under to keep things going. She acts strong but in actual fact she’s weak inside.

   To be honest, none of us is coping. I’m getting angry over the simplest of things, and taking it out on the people who matter most. Like, Thomas. I really like him and you would’ve too. He, like you, loves country music. All the old stuff you brought Craig and I up with. The likes of Tammy Wynette, Patsy Cline, Kenny Rogers, you know, all them. His favourite is Elvis. A personal favourite with you and mum. Only rubbish thing is he lives in Wales. A whole 8 hours, plus, away.

   If I wasn’t so scared on the prospect of meeting new people - and if I had the money - I would be straight down there to meet him. However, with the events that’s transpired within the last few days, I don’t even know if we’re even still friends anymore. He’s not said two words to me today, and normally we can text for hours on end. Even if we run out of things to say. Things have been strained recently. That might be because of my green eyed monster making an appearance or whether it’s just us falling apart.

   I wish you were here so I could talk to you about it. About what I can do and whether or not he’s worth the effort I’m putting in anymore. It seems to be me doing all the talking for the both of us, not him. I don’t know what to do, dad. I’m at a wits end with everything. I don’t even get my goodnight texts anymore. Am I just being paranoid? Or do I just give up?

    Uncle Tam and Uncle Jimmy will probably be thinking that we’re ignoring them but we just don’t have the courage to phone them. Because it’ll seem like we’re talking to you. I know that sounds ridiculous but not only do you look alike, you sound alike too. It’s the border twang. The twang of the boys from Castle Douglas. Weird, isn’t it? Being named - surname wise - after a place in Scotland. I’m probably the only one to question it but it’s weird, to me. I just hope you’re having fun being reunited with your family. However, it sucks to your family here, on earth, because we’re struggling like nothing else to cope with the tragic loss of you. It just feels like a part of us has been ripped away like a plaster. And we’re bleeding to the brink of non-existence.

   It hurts. Everything just hurts. But we still love you, nonetheless. That part within us hasn’t changed. And it’ll never change.

I love you.

Your loving daughter,

Marriann xx