Accepting My Child Will Never Walk

I remember reading, a few years back, about someone with cancer feeling inadequate because they weren't running marathons or raising millions of pounds for charity. They were 'just', you know, getting on, turning up for chemo, hoping for the best. I've read too about people who've become depressed (understandably) as the cancer has taken hold; felt like giving up. But those aren't the stories that make the papers; people don't want to read about that. They want INSPIRATION. Defying the odds... That kind of thing. Not just ... Well you know ... The everyday kind of suffering.  
I wondered how it would feel to have cancer and read about the people running 26 miles when you're barely fit to get to the end of your bed. Do you think 'fair play', or do you feel guilty, or unworthy, or maybe that you're just not trying hard enough?
Mind over matter and all that!
Hugh's undiagnosed condition has left his muscles very floppy. He can't walk or si…

Missing Dad

Just Like Grandad
It's at funny times I miss my dad; when I'm driving somewhere new and I've no one to discuss the route with- I'm sure he knew the fastest way to get anywhere - or when I catch an episode of Deal or No Deal and I remember how, when he was ill and I was pregnant, we'd spend hours sat watching it and discussing what we'd do. 

I don't miss him all day every day, but I think about him often. I know that if he was here, he'd be project managing this whole Big Build. He'd have spent hour after hour here getting the job done. My Father-in-law too. The pair of them would have been hammering and sawing and building and fixing, putting to shame lads half their age. 

I miss them both.

The Big Build, as exciting as it is, is a huge reminder of the important people missing in our lives. The two men, who'd have built it single-handedly if they could, and the two women who would have filled it with such warmth and love. 

Trying not to drill their fingers to the roof
It should be John Joe on the roof, teaching his grandson how to hold the saw correctly.  It should be my dad with Sean on his lap in the digger, teaching him how to drive it, as he did with me when I was 7.

There are times I look at this project, the house that it will become and how it will change all our lives and I feel incredibly lucky, truly blessed to have such people in our lives to help us achieve this.  Yet there are other times when I am acutely aware of the people that are missing and I know that I would trade it all in a heartbeat to have them back.

We'd have had a fight with the two dads about the flat roof- of that I'm sure. Neither would be impressed with that decision. And John Joe, my father in law, would be cursing me that I've still not painted that side gate! He'd have given up nagging by now, I guess, and done it himself. 

I'm not sure if I believe in ghosts as such. Not the spooky, white sheets over your head kind anyway. But spirits, or souls, or positive energies or whatever. I believe in that. 

And whilst they may not be physically here, giving the orders, cracking the jokes and wheeling barrow after barrow load of screed through the house, I know they're both here, watching over it all, tutting when I'm not bringing the tea fast enough and rolling their eyes at each other. The foreman and the site manager.

I hope they're proud of what we've achieved so far. 



Dad looking amused at my dubious sawing skills






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