Oh man, I ain't half been a daddy's girl.

Guilty of walking straight in the back door where his study was and if he wasn't there, it was always 'hi-mum-where's-dad?'. And if I rang, I wouldn't even have to ask - Mum would just say 'hang on I'll get your father'. How she never took it personally I do not know. It wasn't that I didn't adore Mum, it's just Dad was the guy who took me surfing, showed me how to take photos, shared music with me, and so on. If you've read any of my posts you'll know I hero worshipped my beautiful old man.

But the last few days of hell after we buried him, well.

The depression, irritation and damn heart pain - jeeeeeeezzzzzzzzus - what a doozy. It has absolutely paralysed me. I have a whole toolbox of resources, believe you me - look to nature, meditate, yoga, walk, hang in the garden, breath, breath, breath - but nothing was cutting through. The advice from well meaning friends was that it would pass, give it time, be kind to myself and so on - and it was all I could do from say in a really passive aggressive way 'I know!'. Which I do. I am not keeping it in - I mean, with my emotional self, I just can't - it bubbles over like billy-o.

Yesterday I was desperate. The ocean, the ocean, the ocean. It's 14 degrees celsius and cold at the moment but I pulled on a wetty and immersed myself in the womb of mother freaking life. Salty tears and salty water kiss each other like old friends. But still. That's a lot of tears. Forget climate change and rising sea levels - a girl with her grief threatens to flood the world.

Whilst it eased a little, in the end, I ran to Mum. I really, really didn't want to bother her. I didn't want her to worry for me. She's in her own flipped universe without the love of her life in it. She's been cleaning like mad. Washing and folding his tshirts and packing up his medicines. Dusting the higher shelves. Sorting out the freezer. If there's any woman who uses tidying to help grief, it's my mother.

Me and Mum, circa 1980's. Dad's flannel shirt, our dog Judy, and my BMX.

When she asked how I was, I just could not keep it together. 'Fuuccck Mum! How did you cope when your Dad died?'. Of course it was a little different - he had dementia, and my relationship with both my own father and my emotional heart is a little different.

'Brandy in tea?' she said. We both laughed. Last time Mum offered me that I was just about to get on a flight to Europe with my four year old, some twenty odd years ago. 'With lemon, for health reasons?' she joked. My family are good at joking in the face of tragedy.

We sat and cried and talked and felt sorry for ourselves and laughed and let it all go for an hour or two. Whether it was the brandy or our conversation, who knows.

There's no medicine like your mother.

When I left I hugged her and she said 'you're stronger than you think, you know'. Then she laughed and acknowledged she was giving herself advice as much as anything.

I knew all along my Mum was a legend, truth be told. But it's moments like this that make me realise just how much of a legend she is.

Go hug ya mama. If she's anything like mine, she bloody well deserves it.

With Love,

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