"If you want to soar with the eagles, you have to hoot with the owls."

The above is what people who know my Dad call a “Kimism”. Kim is my Dad, that’s one of his phrases. On his 40th or 50th, one of his colleagues, Terry, made him up a whole book of Kimisms, songs they used to sing, silly pictures that were sent around the office. My brother and I first saw this book after my Dad had passed away. And we were mesmerized.

Today marks the 7th month of my Dad’s passing. Well, not quite actually. Tomorrow morning, at about 4.30am, 7 months ago, I would’ve received an hysterical phonecall from my Mum about my Dad falling down the stairs, him not moving and there being a lot of blood. I remember the whole thing like it was yesterday.

I remember boyfriend driving around to Mum’s house. I remember drunken arsehole Brian being outside the house, waiting for his taxi even though the chaos was happening about 20 feet behind him. I still haven’t forgiven or forgotten what he did that night and his unacceptable behaviour since then. I remember my Uncle Jim giving my Dad CPR, my cousin Sam on the phone to 999 and talking my Uncle through it. Hell, you guys know the story – I have probably written it in here before.

The things I don’t tend to remember so much is how strong and calm I was during the whole ordeal. I walked in and told Sam to tell the person on the phone that I was a first aider and if I could help. As he said no, I went into the kitchen and started treating my Mum for shock. When someone else could take over, I went to find my brother in the dining room under the table. He was on his own, so I helped him and treated him for shock too. As soon as the paramedics came to see him, I stayed for a while to check he wasn’t concussed, then went to see my Mum, as she began getting more panicked. As soon as she was calm, the paramedic asked me to get my Dad’s medication, which I knew would be in his bedside drawer. I (somehow) stepped over my Dad as the paramedics were continuing with CPR, ran up the stairs that my Dad had just fallen down, scrambled through his drawers and found all the medication I could find and handed them to the medics.

I had managed to stay calm though I knew most people didn’t recover from CPR. I knew things were spiraling out of control, but I stayed level headed to make sure everyone else was ok. For someone with pretty low self confidence and self belief, this is a huge realisation that I have the… not power… but the whatever in me to cope in such an experience.

A lot has happened in 7 months, but not a lot has happened. We have gone on to live our lives. I had my hair cut off. Brother went back to uni. Mum bought 2 puppies. But I still miss him so so much. I feel like I’m not crying as much as I used to, which is good, but I feel guilty about it. I still cry every month on this day, because I still can’t believe it’s happened. But I am extremely lucky to have known my Dad, even for the short nearly 23 years that I did.


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