As a little girl I wanted nothing more than to grow up and marry mine. In fact, the sentiment I was trying to portray was to find a man like my father... with the same morals, sense of adventure and humour, with an ability to see the good and funny in most things in life. A perpetual optimist who enjoyed each day as if it where his first.
My father was truly a great man, with all of the aforementioned qualities, and while he was alive everything in the world seemed right... with his passing my world dimmed. I lost my footing for a while as it seemed, to me at least, that my father - the eternal believer in my abilities - had taken his faith with him, and that is when the negative, dark thoughts started to filter into my mind.
Perhaps it was because I felt a great deal of sorrow and regret for not getting the chance to say goodbye to this wonderful man I was lucky enough to call Daddy, and that feeling lingered and festered into an unhealthy dose of guilt. Add to that the repeated hiccups that every day life brings, and the stress starts to build with nowhere to go.
Now don't get me wrong I love my mother but she has the unique ability to rub me up the wrong way. Where my father saw only the good in me, my mother has always tended to see the bad and okay as a teenager I was rebellious to a fault. Having said that I'm now in my forties and have come a long way from the rebel I was. Yet still my mother finds fault, and unfortunately from where I'm sitting, will never fully approve of me or the life I chose...
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