CHRISTMAS EVE: traditions

Last year, we started a new tradition of visiting the Botanical Gardens on Christmas Eve to lay flowers for my Dad. It was that day in 2014 that I last spoke to him, and it was the happiest conversation with laughter and silliness. The girls and I wandered around, laying bright orange tulips (picked by Josephine) in the spots they thought were the most beautiful. Although actually, my favourite one was next to a big puddle that they both jumped and splashed in for ten minutes...

"I think I should lay a flower here, Mama, because Grandpa would have loved to have done this too. He would think it's hilarious!!"

I absolutely agree, Josephine.

The gloomy rain cleared as we arrived, leaving an almost spring-like hour for us to stroll around, talk about Grandpa and get excited for all that Christmas would bring. It was my Dad's favourite time of year too, and I'm determined to continue that for him.

There was blossom on the trees and the girls chased squirrels and birds, played hide and seek and ate a whole load of cookies as we explored one of our favourite places. It was just lovely.

We love you, Papa xxx

TWO YEARS

It's hard to believe that another year has passed. Another year without you making me laugh, showing me the way, holding my hand and smiling back at me. I don't understand how it's been two years since we spoke. Since I saw you. Since our lives smashed into a million pieces. Since a new chapter began.
 
This year, I've come to release that the thing about grief - essentially, the biggest thing - is the absolute lack of control. I never know which way it will throw me. As time moves on, and another year without my Dad here comes to a close, the healing continues. The grief, for me, never fades - it burns as bright today as it did that first day - but I'm learning how to live with it. How to be warmed by that flame, draw strength from it and use it's passion and fire to drive my life along; achieve what I want to achieve, be who I want to be. The lessons grief has, and will, teach me are invaluable. They've come at the greatest cost, but they're here whether I like it or not, and it would be foolish not to listen to them and try to follow them. As the waves of heartbreak smash on me, I give in and let go and it helps me to heal and as the calmer waters of understanding take me to new places, I grow and relax and can breath again. Sometimes I feel like I am only just holding on by the tips of my fingers, so nearly out of control, and sometimes, from somewhere, I can use it and feel powerful and unstoppable; that I can take on the world, because I'm surviving the worst it has to throw at me.

With everyday comes a new challenge. A new question, a photograph, a forgotten memory, the first few bars of a song. And with every challenge I'm learning to let my heart guide me. I don't think I will ever know what will upset me or what will make me smile when it comes to my Dad, but I'm learning that I can't control it and realising that this year has simultaneously given me some control back. I no longer feel like I'm spiralling, even in those darkest moments. I'm riding those waves now, not fighting against them; I'm willing to let them take me wherever I need them to.

Everyday I feel you're with me, my Papa. In some way or another. And as the new year begins I'm more sure of it than ever. But I miss you, more every day and with every minute. I love you, forever and always.

MY YEAR: a new chapter, part three

As the year comes to a close, it's natural for us to reflect on what the last 12 months have brought, revealed and challenged us with. And I feel like it's been a big year for me.

I wrote last year, that 2014 was a year of quiet and healing. It was by far the most emotional of my life; a year of heart-breaking lows and heart-mending highs. It was a year of firsts without my Dad and firsts with Coralie; the strange reality of my Dad never meeting Coralie, and yet their lives overlapping in that way is something I think about often.

It turns out that 2015 has been a year of understanding and growth for me. I guess in many ways I didn't realise it at the time, as the months and seasons slipped by, but here we are and it's dawning on me how much I've changed this year. My opinion, feelings and thoughts on so many things feel more grounded, more true. I feel like I've discovered more of myself this year than I ever have before.

Over these last weeks, in the midst of exhaustion and illness, I've found myself awake in the middle of the night, joining the dots. And while it's been a journey, and one that on many levels I was thrown unwittingly, kicking and screaming into, the last two years have taught me so much about myself and the person I want to be.

* I think motherhood is a journey that none of us know the path of. It winds and flows in every direction, sometimes all at once, and the best we can do is learn and understand and stay true to ourselves and our instincts and beliefs. Birthing Coralie and those first six months of sleepless nights and attempting to forge some kind of routine and normality in the throws of grief, was hard. Indescribable, really. But as Coralie has grown, and as all four of us have, we've hit a stride in these last few months that I feel in sync with. There have been challenges, as there always are in parenthood, but Ben and I have come out stronger and more united than ever. And our girls continue to blossom and thrive. They are truly my greatest achievement and, oh! My life, my existence, it's all for them, for Ben, for our little family. I want to be present, to listen and understand, even when I find it hard to. I want to smile and laugh and continue to forgive and forget the little things that can sometimes seem like the biggest things. Because they're not. I want to take more moments to myself to breathe and stay calm and centred; to think. And I want to see those moments as a blessing and necessity not a failure.

* I want to relax in this new found freedom that is body-confidence. It's not so much getting my old body back, because that really hasn't happened, but it's understanding this new body of mine. This amazing body that created and grew and birthed and nourished my babies. I have a new found respect for it, and am in a very happy place where I no longer feel like I'm fighting it. I'm happy, and despite being heavier and softer, I love it more. I aim to listen to it, to strengthen it (but gently with pilates I think) and I will embrace this feeling and share it with my girls. To love oneself. To stand in front of the mirror and feel proud. And I will enjoy every mouthful of steak or creamy chicken Ben cooks and every bite of that chocolate bar he brings me home as a treat.

* I aim to continue simplifying. A term thrown at everything now, I know, but one I've really identified with this year. In all aspects of life, I hope to be less cluttered. To hold onto only the things I truly love. I've started well in 2015 and feel so much clearer because of it.

* The mix of motherhood and grieving has pushed my love of style and fashion away, as far as it ever has been, but over the last six months, I've felt it return and it's different now. It's about those few choice pieces - not necessarily expensive (the charity shop is still my number one) but thoughtful - about finding the balance between practicality and desirability; for my wardrobe and our home. Clothing-wise, I've got rid of those fall-back items I just chuck on because they're easy, yet which I never feel good in. I deserve more than that; whether I'm at the park, at home or out for lunch. I aim to buy less, but make it count.

* I want to use my time better, to use it purposefully and use it well. To achieve the little things and the big things. The things I need to and the things I want to. I have a few projects I hope to develop and work on next year, and I will need to utilise the afternoon naptimes, the nursery times and the early evenings as best I can, but I know it will be worth it. I'm excited to see what that time will bring.

For me, 2016 is about thoughtfulness. All these things come back to that. It's about taking a moment to decide what I want; what I want to buy, say, do, achieve. I want to take control and make the most of this year. Breath in every second of my babies, of this moment in our lives, seize every opportunity and make my place in this world count.

WISHES

Josephine collected little stones to throw into the lake at Dryham Park last week, and told me she was making wishes as they hit the water. Wishes for holidays and cake and sunshine; and a wish that she could see her Grandpa.

I love that he is in her thoughts always, and at the same time my heart breaks for her and all that she should have done with him but never got the chance, and for how much she misses him.

My sweet girl. Your Grandpa would be so proud of you and I have no doubt that, wherever he is now, he wishes he could see you too.

And then she wished for an apple. I love her!

^^^

To my girls, today was a sad day; a year since your Grandpa's funeral. That was a strange day; a day for tears but also a day to laugh and talk to your Grandpa's friends and colleagues, some who knew Grandpa when he was a little boy, all about what a wonderful man he was.

I wanted to stand up and say something that day. To tell all those people what an awesome Daddy he was, how brilliant a Grandpa he was, and how he filled our lives with so much happiness and fun.

I'm sure by the time you are big enough to read this, you'll know the stories I recounted that day, some of my favourite stories, off by heart. I hope you do. But in case you ever want to read all about your Grandpa and I'm not there to tell you, this is for you.

It's so sad to read about all the things we didn't get to do, and about how much darker the world is without your Grandpa here, but remember to always think of the silly games and funny things Grandpa said, and would say, and you'll be laughing in no time. It's what he would have wanted, I know that for sure.

I love you my darlings.
Love Mama xxx

A few weeks before Christmas, I spoke to Dad on Skype, as we did so often while he was away, and I asked him if he'd had any more adventures on his new motorbike. Of course, he had, riding along beautiful stretches of Australian coastline. It was on one such adventure that he'd stopped at a biker cafe he'd passed. He pulled up on his Norton, complete with turn up jeans and his old leather jacket with vintage patches, took off his helmet to reveal his quiff, and was met with sniggers and shouting from the group of Hell's Angels that had taken over the bar. Remembering headlines of gang violence, armed robbery and curfews linked to this group, Dad stood, encircled, knowing that these Hell's Angels were the real deal, and wondering which way this was going to go.

So he did what he did best, and he cracked a joke.

And after a silent pause, the whole group burst into laughter and welcomed him with open arms into the bar.

That was Dad. No matter where he was in the world, no matter what the situation or the type of people, that was my Dad. He bought a smile to the face of everyone he met, burly Hell's Angels included, and was always, instantly loved by them all. It was this charm that once allowed us to leave a restaurant in Prague without paying, because Dad had forgotten his wallet. Dad's smile and way with words had the restaurant manager won over in minutes and he was happy for us to go back the next day. That was more than ten years ago, and every restaurant visit since resulted in Dad pretending to forget his wallet. And we always laughed; every time.

Over the last few weeks, my brother, sister and I have received such lovely emails from friends and colleagues of Dad's all over the world, and every single one of them talks about the laughter he bought to their lives; the light he bought to the world.

We all have so much to learn from the life Dad led. He was an inspiration; to me and to so many others. He seized every opportunity to experience new adventures and learn something different. He worked hard and lived every day to the full. And he did it all with a smile. Like so many of you, it's that smile I will always remember. It brightened every day I got to see it; it has brightened the darkest moments of the last month, and I know that it will brighten the tough times that are yet to come. Every day, we should all strive to bring the same happiness to someone, that my Dad did; to follow in his footsteps and make the world a better place in his honour.

Dad's job meant that we could go for long periods of time without seeing him. In the last few years alone he'd spent many months working in Australia and Germany, but our time together was always the more special because of that. In just a few hours together, we'd have more fun and more laughs than other people would have in weeks. No-one has a Dad like us. And I am so proud to be able to call him my Daddy. Prouder today, than ever.

And no-one has a Grandpa like Tyler, Coby and Josephine. Before Dad started work in Australia last summer Josephine and I spent so many lovely days hanging out with Dad, in the garden, in the sunshine. I will never forget the fun those two had, the laughter and the adoration. Skyping with Dad and Josephine involved raspberry blowing sessions that lasted 15 minutes and whole conversations with him wearing his bike helmet and goggles because Josephine had asked him to put on his 'motorbike hat', which he loved and happily agreed to. In the last few months Dad and I had spoken so much about plans for this year. We should have had so many more days together. More time for Josephine to have adventures with her Grandpa, more time for him to meet our new Baby. But they will always know him. They will know all our favourite stories about him by heart, they will know his beautiful face, and I know he will be watching over them, forever.

For as long as I can remember, I've been told that my Dad was a legend. Whenever we visited film sets, Dad's colleagues would be jostling to tell us how awesome he was, which we all knew, of course. Charlie said last week how people just flocked to Dad; wanting to be in his presence, to share a piece of his happiness. So many of Dad's idols died too young; James Dean, Eddie Cochran and Buddy Holly. They had so much more to give; they left people wanting more. Just like Dad. There should have been so many more years of fun to come; he had so much more joy to spread. But he joins the best of them, nestled with the coolest of the cool; our Dad, a true legend.

Our beautiful Daddy was taken from us far too soon, but no-one could have picked a more magical place in the world to go. Classic Dad. The last few years have been amazing for him. Dora has said how he died on such a high. Working with amazing people on huge film projects, travelling the world, moving into a beautiful new home and meeting his love, Dee.

My last conversation with Dad was on Christmas Eve, two days before he died. As soon as his face popped up onto the screen, I knew how happy he was to have Dee with him. You could see it in his eyes. He looked relaxed and blissful. They opened our Christmas present and he entertained Josephine by wearing a Christmas hat and fashioning a Father Christmas beard from some tissue paper. We all shared so many laughs. Dad talked about the Christmas Day BBQ on the beach they had planned and got Ben's advice on cooking Christmas pudding on it. He was so happy. So happy to have his love beside him, and we are so grateful that he did. So grateful to Dee for making his last days some of the best he ever had; that she loved him with all her heart and that she filled his heart with so much happiness; that she was there to hold his hand as he went. You will always be part of our family Dee, as Dad intended, and we all love you, as he did, so much.

My Papa, my Daddio. It's hard to find the words to tell you how much you meant to us, how much you will always mean to us. You are my hero and I promise to make you proud every single day. To live life to the fullest and to be happy. There should be no goodbyes today. I know you'll always be with me, with us all, guiding us and protecting us. And that someday we'll all be laughing together again. Until that day, I love you, and I will miss you, forever and always.

thankful

One week today it will be Christmas Eve. And on that day it will be exactly a year since the last time I ever spoke to my Dad, the last time I saw his face on Skype; the last laughs we shared and our last goodbyes.

As the anniversary of his death gets closer, the grief and longing to see him again is palpable. I have found over the last year that it's the days before a big anniversary or special occasion that I find the hardest.

I find it harder than usual to not relive certain moments over and over again in my head. I fall asleep thinking about them and during the (albeit rare) moments of quiet during the day, my mind quickly wanders to those hardest of days. To the moment I heard what had happened, to the deep, dark silence that filled my car as my brother, sister and I travelled to Cornwall that same day to be with my Grandparents and the rest of my family; to his funeral – standing, looking at his coffin, speaking the words of my eulogy for him.

Come the day itself, I find strength I didn't think I could muster. I can smile as I think of my Dad's beautiful face and jokes he would crack. I find the dread I had about how I would feel, melt away. I've realised that the complete sadness, the heartbreak, the amount I miss my Dad, isn't greater on those 'significant' days. It's that way every day; some days are easier than others, of course, but it's there always. I replay those moments all the time. It's hard not to. I think about my Dad all day, every day. Happy thoughts, sad thoughts; smiles and tears.

In the summer, when we were driving back to Cornwall for our summer holidays, I spoke to Ben about the last time I had driven those roads. And Ben told me about how, when I told him that Dad had died, he wondered what the next year would hold; how I'd cope, whether I'd even find the energy to get out of bed and carry on. That the strength I, and my family, had shown was incredible, inspiring. That my Dad would be so proud of us all. I think of Ben's words often too, they help me hold my head high when I want to look down and cry.

I'm looking forward to the New Year like I never have before. I'm ready for 2014 to be over. To begin a new chapter. It's been the hardest year of my life. Learning to live without my Dad here beside me, seeing my best friend be heartbroken, moving away and starting a new chapter in her life, how hard things are for my brother right now and knowing of the sadness my sweet friend has to endure after loosing her precious babies; my young sister in law cope with the diagnosis of cancer and watching Ben's beloved Grandad pass away leaving his wife of 60 years. The list seems endless. But it has also been so wonderful. Coralie's arrival has bought such joy, and the happiness and laughter Josephine has bought us is something I will forever be thankful for. Planning my sister's wedding and seeing how happy she is, the birth of my Godson and watching my best friend create a beautiful home for her boys and find strength that is so inspiring, my sister in law getting the all clear and showing such bravery.

At this time of year it's important to reflect on all we have to be thankful for, and despite the heartbreak I've suffered over the last 12 months, I know I have many beautiful things to be grateful for. And I plan to focus on those. I am thankful for my girls and for Ben, who has been so strong when he too has been so sad. For my family and such good friends. For a safe home, good health and yummy food on the table. Knowing that my Dad was so happy when he left this Earth, and being free of any anger that so many have to suffer when someone they love so much dies so suddenly.

This week has bought such sadness around the world. The tragedy is Sydney, which unfolded just round the corner from where my Dad was living this time last year, and the truly horrific and soul-wrenching events in Pakistan yesterday. When the world faces such hatred and heartbreak, we must focus on what is good.

Finally, I am thankful for you. The support I have received from my little online community, via my blog and IG, has been incredible. And whilst I've had some messages questioning sharing my grief and my feelings through this medium, I remain grateful for the opportunity to do so. To have some of you reach out with your own experiences, to have you all offer such kindness and happy thoughts.

With the New Year comes new plans for this space. I've barely held on to it this year, but that's ok. It has been a year to begin healing, to be quiet and to reflect. But I feel that now is time to start writing more. To take more pictures, and I'm looking forward to getting back to blogging more regularly after Christmas.

I am, as ever, inspired by my Dad and will keep moving forward, keep seizing the day and new opportunities.

Much love to you all, and thank you xxx

^^^

My darling girls,

We talk every day about your Grandpa, and the fun we all had when he was here with us; the things he loved doing and the person he was. But I want you to know about some of those moments after he died too. Moments you weren't there to see or will have been too small to remember. Because they're part of his legacy too, and they remind us of how he lives on in us all and in our memories. And they're so important to me.

I want to tell you about one beautiful July afternoon when we spread some of your Grandpa's ashes. It sounds a little morbid, I know. And in all honesty, I wasn't entirely sure what to expect myself as we prepared to do it that sunny day.

But, oh little ones, I wanteyou know that it was beautiful. A truly amazing, heartbreaking, heartmending, beautiful moment that I will never forget. And I'm so glad you were both there. Even though you were so small, and you watched from afar with Uncle Andy, and you won't remember it yourselves.

The pier in St Ives was such a lovely spot to stand, with Daddy and Auntie Dora, Uncle Charlie, Nanny and Grandma and Grandpa Ratty. The sun was so warm, the sky was so blue and the sea was luminous. My Papa would have loved it.

Grandpa's ashes were creamy white and like the crushed shingle you'd find on a beach. As I threw my handful into out over the edge of the pier, into the air and into the sea, and into the world and universe, I told him that we loved him.

And as I threw them they hovered in the air, caught on a gust of wind, and they shone and shimmered in the sunlight before floating up and down and all around.

I'm sure your Grandpa was with me in that moment, I know he was. He was stood beside us, giving us the strength to see the beauty in something so sad and unfair. 

My Daddy. He bought light and beauty to this world when he was alive, and he continues to do so now too.

He will forever and always shine his light on us all, my darlings. Never forget that.

I love you,
Mama xxx

TIME

Right now I feel that time is all consuming. 

The time we have left has a family of three, the time spent eagerly awaiting our new addition. The question of how much time birthing this little one will take, and how easily time will pass with two children. Savouring the time with Josephine and willing time to go faster so we get to meet Baby. Not knowing what time will bring. A boy? A girl?  An easier breastfeeding journey? A reluctant sleeper like Josephine? 

Over the last four months time has moved in the strangest of ways. Feeling both simultaneously fast and slow. This pregnancy has zipped by quicker than I ever imagined it would, and it's so strange and surreal that we're already at our due date. 

And all the time, the days and months that we've been without my Dad have stacked up. I've been told that time is a healer, but I feel there is so long to go until that is true. I miss him more every day and, right now, I'm finding it all so hard to be without him. Perhaps it's the impending arrival of a grandchild he'll never meet - the knowing that I won't be able to introduce this little one to their amazing Grandpa; that i'll never have a picture of them together. 

It's the strangest mix of emotions. The pure joy and excitement at the prospect of having another baby, of bringing something so amazing into the world, paired with the devastation of knowing the same world is without someone who bought so much love and laughter. 

Tonight, this weekend, I know I need to let the idea of time go; to give into the notion of 'what will be will be' and to just surrender. This baby, as with all babies, will come when it's ready; who knows what time will bring.

Last weekend we went to my Dad and his girlfriend, Dee's, house, where me, my brother and sister looked through more of my Dad's treasures. Dee had found his collection of vintage watches and we each chose one to keep and wear. There is something so comforting in wearing the watch he wore; of looking at it so many times a day and remembering him whenever I do. And, as time ticks on, I'm reminded of the beautiful times and adventures we spent together as well as the time we have been without him and the time yet to come where he will not be here with us in person but, always and forever, with us in spirit. 

***

Since my Dad died I've been inundated with beautiful emails from so many of you, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for each of them. The fact that you've taken the time to write and share some of your own heartbreaking stories and how you've dealt with it all has meant so much. When people ask me how I'm doing, how I'm coping, I'm always unsure of how to react. My go to statement is that it's all such a roller coaster. Which is absolutely true, of course. But to say how I'm really feeling is perhaps more complicated. 

Grief is an emotion I've never experienced before. It's one that's so hard to explain, one that is so changeable. 

Grief can leave you feeling high on adrenaline before sending you crashing back to Earth with sadness. It can offer you motivation to change your life and reach for your dreams whilst simultaneously freezing you to the spot, depriving you of the desire to do anything. 

Grief can make you realise how much wonder fills your life, fills the world; and yet makes you question its fairness and challenges your understanding of why things happen the way they do. 

It can make you believe and it can leave you doubting. It can make you miss someone more than you think you can bear and it can leave you sure that they're always with you.

Grief can bring clarity and focus whilst clouding your mind with the thickest fog. It can slow down time and make months seems like years, and it can speed time up with weeks flying by in a blur. 

Grief can leave you clinging on to things like you've never done before, cherishing every item; and it can open your eyes to how the material doesn't matter. 

It can be on your mind 24/7, echoing in your dreams, and yet it can surprise you when you least expect it and will leave you gasping for breath. 

There are good days and bad days, and there are days that leave you crumpled in a heap on the floor absolutely heartbroken. There are smiles and there are tears, and there is uncontrollable crying for hours. 

Every day you wake up and remember, and every night you fall asleep wishing it wasn't true. You can spend your time trying to forget the moment you found out and yet you can't help but play it over again and again; every word, every reaction. 

And yet through all this, love remains the constant. The love of those who get you through the tough times and share the laughs, who take your mind of it all when you need to forget and who listen for hours about how you're feeling when it's all you want to talk about. The love of friends who bring new perspective and the love of those who have been through the same. The love of your family; your siblings and your children especially, who are each part of the person you've lost and who, in so many ways, keep them there with you. 

And then there is the love for the person you've lost. The love that continues to grow despite the fact they're no longer here; the love that you know will be with you forever, no matter how the day leaves you feeling. The love that keeps you going when all you want to do is stop, because you know it's what they would have wanted. The love that keeps you knowing that despite the hurt, despite the pain, despite how much it's all so completely unfair, you wouldn't change the time you had for anything. You wouldn't swap your Dad for someone else and the promise of longer. You'd keep it all the same. Because only 29 years with your Dad is better than 100 with another. 

The weeks are slipping into months and I miss you more with each day that passes, my beautiful Papa. In so many ways, it's all still so hard to believe. I think about you every day, every hour and you will always be in my heart. I love you. 

The beauty of spring can not come soon enough. The warmer sun on our backs, the idea of new beginnings, the promise of new life. With every flower I see burst open with colour, the more I am reminded of all this. And I'm so thankful for that reminder. 

NEW CHAPTER, SAME STORY

It's now been more than six weeks since we lost our beautiful Dad, and more than two since his funeral. To say that time has been surreal is an understatement, and I feel as though most of it has been spent shrouded in thick fog. Some parts seem like only yesterday, and others seem like years ago already. I can't help but go through how I found out again and again in my head, and before I go to bed at night my heart leaps into my mouth as I turn my phone onto silent never again wanting to experience that dreaded early morning call that will change your life forever. 

My sister and I have both started writing journals to help us work through the crazy mix of emotions you feel when you loose someone so beloved, so suddenly. Dora has been writing down happy memories, but at the moment, I'm finding my journal is a place I can scream into. To write to my Dad about how much I'm hurting and how much I miss and love him. I know the happy memories will follow, but the therapy it's giving me to get all that pain out of my head and onto the page is incomparable. Days can pass when I don't write a thing, and on others I can write numerous entries, each just sentences long.

I'm not really sure how much I want to write here, about it all. This blog has always been a happy space, somewhere we can look back through in months and years to come, to remember the little things that make us smile everyday. And in all honesty, I want to keep it that way. To keep it somewhere I can escape to. Where I can talk about the hilarious things Josephine's been up to, the cute clothes she's wearing and the fun adventures we've been on without side notes of bad days and tears. Hanging over everything in our lives is the deepest sadness, the knowing that someone amazing has been taken from us, so to have a space where I can focus on the happy and positive and frivolous seems like a blessing.

My Dad's dear friend George, who lost his own Dad when he was not too much older than me, summed up this strange new beginning we're all experiencing as 'A new chapter of the same story'. That despite the fact we're all having to pick ourselves up and start again, Dad will always be with us, a huge and important part of everything that happens in the future, as he was in the past; never ever forgotten. I've been thinking about that so much. That, even though he's not here anymore, he's playing a part in all our decisions and is part of us all. WWD/JD (What Would Dad/Joe Do) has become the family's motto in the last few weeks, and it's a comfort to us all to think of the advice and support he'd be giving us if he were here...another of George's suggestions :)

The support Ben has given me over these weeks has been indescribable. And I am more thankful than ever for our babies. Josephine is truly the happiest distraction, so like my Dad in so many ways and able to make me laugh through my tears like nothing else. She talks about 'Grandpa' without prompting and I find myself being able to tell her funny stories and tell her how much we all love him with pride and happiness in my voice, rather than sadness and longing. How much she loves him is both heartbreaking and heart-mending, all at the same time. The adventures they should have shared and will no longer be able to is one of the hardest things for me to think about. But we talk about him everyday. And our newest song to sing on car journeys is one we used to sing with my Dad when we were kids. Whenever I sing it I'm sure he's there with us, smiling away. And our tiny baby has kept me thinking about how many glorious things we have in our lives, and how many more there are to look forward to. About how there are so many things to be grateful for, despite everything.

My Dad is with me in everything that I do, and knowing that has allowed me to get up each morning and carry on. To still smile and laugh and be happy. To make plans for our future, to ensure we carry on his motto of living life to the full and grabbing every opportunity with both hands. To have fun. And that's what this blog will continue to be about, as it always has. To honour my wonderful, incredible, inspiring Papa.

I've missed writing here properly. I really feel this space has become part of me over the last few years, giving me the opportunity to continue writing, and the reason to keep on taking photographs when my camera could easily just sit in it's case on the table. I can't wait to be back more, my little corner of the internet to escape into. Thank you for sticking with me and for all your support. Your words both here, on Facebook and on Instagram have made me smile and cry and have offered so much comfort. Much love to you all xxx