January is a quiet time here at Diva Central and I am using this time to re-visit, re-vamp if you will, my “Diva Diaries” blog and share the ramblings of my quirky mind. My days, actually my entire life, is spent primarily alone which, for me, is not necessarily a good thing and so this year I am going to try for (ahem) the 6th time lucky to use the wonders of the internet as an outlet for my musings.
As I am sat here, I have realized that tomorrow is my beloved daddy’s birthday; were he still with us, he would be turning an impressive 85 years of age! I make no secret of the fact that my father was indeed my hero and I feel so very blessed that, at the time of his passing, we were as close as any father and daughter could hope to be; that is not say that I do not miss him so very much, but I am thankful for the time that we had in the years before he passed away; I know that, in the very best sense of the term, we had nothing left unsaid between us, this is indeed a rare gift, and one that I treasure to this day.
So, as I prepare for 2015 – the “Year of the Blog”!! I came across a piece that I wrote for my own pleasure many years ago, it brought a smile to my face as it captured (rather eloquently I must say) the unique relationship I had with my dad, and reminded me that humor can be found in the strangest of circumstances. For those who read this, I thank you for allowing me this indulgence…
(Originally posted on private blog 03/09/2009)
“A few years ago, circumstances in my life led to a nervous breakdown. Not a melodramatic parody designed to gain the attention of family and (not that I thought I had any) friends, but a full on melt down of mind, body and spirit.
Given that, at the time, I was living alone there were grave concerns for my safety and, as I had already made several attempts to remove myself from this mortal coil, my parents were forced to act on my behalf as (frankly) I was unable to do so for myself. I imagine their discussion of who was actually going to schlep all the way from their home in the beautiful Southern Highlands to Sydney went something like:
“Oh no, no, no, I’m not going, YOU go!”
“Please, for the love of God, I’m begging you please – YOU go!!!
The matter was no doubt settled in a best of three game of paper, rock, scissors that my poor father obviously lost as he then effectively moved in with me for a period of (about) a year. For anyone who has suffered a breakdown of any sort, on any scale, you know just how excruciating the mental and physical pain is. I cannot begin to imagine what it must be like for the person trying to care for you, but good old dad got stuck in and tried his best.
I feel that it is important for you to know that my dad was a very old school, “don’t wear your heart on your sleeve” kind of man. While I loved him very much, up until that point I would not say that we were especially close. We were not really estranged, but since I had got married six years previously it seemed that a wall had built up between us. My personal recollections of specific day to day events are not clear enough for me to share (and possibly this is no bad thing), but I do know how he struggled to get me out of bed, to shower (or to stop showering when I was taking my 20th hot shower of the day), at some point modesty slipped away for both of us as I do have vague recollections of him having to dress me on at least one occasion.
Once he had achieved the monster task of getting me up, showered (hopefully only once) and dressed in clothes suitable for public viewing, the next big challenge (aside from getting me to talk) was to get me out of the house. I am not too sure what psychological treatment style his method would come under, but my darling daddy would take me to the local shopping mall. To be honest, I suspect this fulfilled two important objectives for dad. Firstly, it got me out of the house and among other people; and secondly he LOVED to go shopping, not spending money mind, but just meandering through the shops, making friends with shop assistants as he went along; win-win for him I guess, and frankly he deserved as much in retrospect really.
Of course getting me out of the house was one thing; keeping me out was another matter altogether, and so dad was forced to tap into quite unfamiliar (to him) resources in order to achieve this. Using the best lady shaver is a lot less painful then waxing. Thus he became quite familiar with the beauty routine common to most women – waxing! Yes, dad quickly learned that it takes AT LEAST thirty minutes (if not longer) for an eyebrow, upper lip, chin, underarm and half-leg wax. PERFECT!! He would scrutinise my appearance semi-regularly and then (as necessary) make my appointments for me. Somehow dad knew that soothing words of comfort like “you’re beautiful as you are” or “don’t change a thing about my little girl” were completely irrelevant to me – I certainly didn’t care, so his preferred phrase was “come on, you haven’t had a wax for a while, and it looks like you need one!”, strangely this worked – arm in arm we would stroll into the salon, me not noticing the strange looks from the other clients and dad not caring. He would gently hand me over to the care and attention of his (and my) favorite beautician and then settle outside to wait for me, flicking through the only magazines available to him – Vogue or Cosmopolitan. When I emerged, on the arm of Laurence (wonderful, wonderful Belgian woman) he would scrutinise her handiwork and, when satisfied that all was well, would ask her (not me mind) if I should buy any of the beauty products on display. Then, and only then, would I be allowed to go home to the comfort of my bed!
The horror of that time is now behind me and, although I would never want to relive the agony I went through not to mention what I put others through, I am beyond grateful that it brought my dad and I so close together. He once wrote to me when I was undergoing treatment that “like the phoenix, I would rise from the ashes of my past” and as I sit here typing this, I realise just how right he was.
Sadly, daddy passed away earlier this year and while I miss him so very much and long to feel the warmth of his bear hugs, while I still miss him so very much and long to feel the warmth of his bear hugs, I feel so very, VERY blessed that during a time of such sorrow and desperation we created a lifetime of memories that I shall never forget and the father-daughter bond that existed between us at the time of his passing will not weaken; I also now have beautifully shaped eyebrows!!”