2 February 2012
How strange to be writing to you again. I can’t have done that since 1984! And then you departed this life only 2 years later – after a traumatic 3 months, when I watched you slide down from life to death. It seemed to be a horrible case of mind over matter. Did your mind or your body end you? It seems that they both conspired. I can trace the day it started and remember so clearly the day it ended.
I tried to save you with love. I remember sitting with you in your bedroom and telling you that I loved you and you told me that while I sat there and held your hand, you felt OK. Yet that moment in time did not save you and you left us that Easter.
There I go, off at a tangent, starting at the end … still it’s MY love letter and I know that you will love it any way. One thing you never left me in any doubt about, was the fact that you loved me, that you were proud of me and that I was wanted and appreciated.
I was a planned and wanted baby, born after a difficult period in a difficult marriage; the little girl that both parents hoped for. You told me one day that you had a vision of me long before I was even thought of … the one female in your life that you would connect to like no other.
You told me too that I came out of the womb completely in charge and as soon as I could speak, I started ordering you around, which made you laugh and you were always amazed at my mature precociousness.
Thanks to you and the cosy nightly ritual of reading to me at bed time, I have always loved books and the beauty of the written word, and now have a creative imagination that can quickly take me to the realms of dream and wonder.
I remember that you would sit in the kitchen of an evening, with your legs crossed and as a tiny child I would sit in the crook of your foot and swing on your leg – my very own daddy swing, as I chattered away to you. I love the memories of us then, of being my daddy’s girl. A gift to you in your middle age.
From you I get my sense of humour – we love puns and word plays. You have a definite sentimental streak and would cry at a sad film. You would drive me and my teenage friends around in one of your old cars, singing away at the top of your voice completely unselfconscious; and I remember at the time thinking it wasn’t socially ideal, but it was funny and deciding not to be embarrassed. My friends would have to accept that that’s how it was, along with the ride, that it was all part of being with me and in my life.
And so we grew older, both of us. You always wanted me to be happy and never pushed me, though some how at the end, when I came home to roost for a while, I became a little disenchanted with you. Maybe that just has to happen, we children have to move away psychologically, to live our own lives.
I always loved you though and what I am left with, a quarter of a century after you left this life, still, is that love. I have so many inheritances from you, both natured and nurtured and can sometimes see your handsome face in the mirror … and then it goes again and it’s just my reflection, your unique angel, partly of your creation. And so there we are and now it’s time to end this letter.
I loved getting in touch with you again dad. Let’s do it again 🙂
Love you loads,
Sandie Annie xxx
PS: Dear Dad – who knew this letter would touch so many hearts and be the start of my first published book… Thank you for your love and belief and the for the gift of my book, which I know you would be so proud of… Dear Reader, if you liked this letter and the letters which followed it, which became published as ‘Peachey Letters – Love Letters to Life’, you can buy your own copy of the book in paperback and in Kindle