My parents saved each other. Had they not found one another, I don't know what would have become of them.

My dad was a drug addict. An unhappy, violent young man. My mom was so vulnerable, so damaged, so open to destruction.
I thank God that they found each other. They were given a gift that is rare: an absolute, true, passionate, gentle, unconditional and lasting love. Very few ever know such a love, although so many live in search of it.
Their journey wasn't without strife. They were dysfunctional, damaged, hedonistic people. They had two small children and lived in poverty. It was them against the world. Our home was filled with utter chaos and love.

It's been over a year since my dad's death. I still miss him, still cry for him. But more than anything, I cry for my mom. For her loss. For the fact that they were parted. I watch her now; I see how strong and brave she is, I see how she tries. I know the detriment of her loss and how cruel it was.

I would like to give my dad back to her. I would like to undo their separation. I know that he waits for her in another place. How could he not when he loved her so? But while his journey in this world came to an end, her's carries on, and I know she is lonely for her Peter.
She used to make him promise, when he was alive, long before the cancer came, that he wouldn't leave her behind. And when the end came he was so sorry to break his promise. He knew what would follow and how much she would miss him.
How can I express such a loss? How can I tell the world and make it understand what was taken away from this woman? That I nor any other have ever witnessed such a love. And when he left, they lay in each others arms.

My God, the price we pay for love. What a gift, what a blessing, to be taken away so early, to leave her without him now. If I think on it too much I am filled with grief. I pray to God that he walks with her until my dad comes to take her home with him. I don't doubt it, but I wish I could shelter her from the pain of absence.
How can it be that my dad is dead and my mom is without him? How can one be without the other?
If I could, I would give them back to each other. Their's was such a rare and beautiful love. He loved her so much. There was only her.

Happy New Year

I have always disliked New Year. Even as a child it always represented the end of my favourite season; an absence of warmth, an emphasis of chaos and disorder, and an unidentifiable sadness. January is a cold month. I remember the dread of going back to school, where I was always odd and disliked. I remember the mess and dirt of our home after the festivities and fun; the Christmas decorations gathering dust and no longer looking beautiful as the days slipped by into spring.

This time round the idea of a new year is very different to me. I welcome it. I view it with tender trepidation that is surrounded by a fragile sense of hope. I hope. For me, my faith in God has always equated to hope. When I pray, I hope.

The past two years have left me feeling bruised by life. Now that a new year has begun I am almost shell-shocked with what has happened. So much has happened. So many changes. Sometimes life moves so quickly I feel I can't keep up. Sometimes I want to hide away from it all. And the older I get, the more the pace quickens.

I pray, I hope, that this year will be less turbulent than the last, and the one before that. Everything is still very raw. Perhaps I feel it more so now (an entire year since he died) because the pace is slowing and I am allowed to feel. I am slowly beginning to recover.

Each day I catch a glimpse of my Dad in my mind's eye and see him alive and smiling. It always brings tears and a kind of heartache that takes the wind out of me. Oh, I miss him. I couldn't have anticipated just how much. Remembering him is a joy and a pain all at once. I often wonder when (if ever) I will be able to remember his face without tears smarting in my eyes and a sore swelling in my chest. My Dad would want me to live my life, be happy and joyful. So that is my goal at the end of the horizon. But, of course, it's not that easy. Grief is the testament to our love when faced with loss, so even for his sake, I can't switch it off. But one day I hope the joy of his memory will out-weigh the pain of loss, and I will make him proud.

So this year I pray, I hope, that we will be blessed with peace and calm to soothe our loss and our heartache. I pray, I hope, for strength and guidance as I learn to love who I am in living my life without the grip of fear governing me.

We have endured and now we will overcome. Happy New Year, Dad. I love you more than I even knew.

When the fear governs

Lately I find myself wondering what my dad would think of me now. So much has changed since he left us. So much is irreversible. I worry that he would be ashamed of me. I worry that the person who emerged from this loss will only cause harm.
It’s easy to feel lost inside the turmoil of grief and pain. Sometimes I feel emotionally numb; detached from everything that has happened and everything that is happening. It makes me question myself and my ability to feel. It makes me question my ability to love.

I believe that each person has a spiritual journey throughout their lives that is highly personal. We each have our own cross to bear and our own gifts and attributes that allow us to learn as we live. Then when the day comes that we have learnt all we need for our individual purpose, God calls us back to him. I don’t know what my journey is yet. I watched my dad reach the end of his journey and I’m watching my mom as she perseveres through hers.

I think that if we are governed by our fear, God strips it away by making us face the things we dread; a truly painful process, but one that will eventually make us free. You are free because you are untouchable from the fear that chained you, and with such freedom, you can truly grow.

The truth is I have never felt more alone. For me, grief is both loneliness and fear.
C.S Lewis said “No one ever told me that grief felt so much like fear”.
I want my dad back to take away the fear, to tell me that I’m still the same person I was before even if I don’t feel it, and to tell me I’ll be happy again one day. But I know that I have to look inside myself and at the fear that governs me and wait patiently for the waves to wash over me. I will still be here when it’s gone and I hope that I will be free.

This time last year.

10.11.12
"The hospice nurses came round this morning. They want dad to go into the hospice and have offered us a flat there so we can stay with him. But dad wants to stay at home, so that is what we’re doing. I think what’s important now is that we respect his wishes. Our priority is that he doesn't suffer and has things his way. This year he has been so brave and so strong. But he’s had enough now. He wants to die at home and we will love him and nurse him until his last breath. I feel so blessed and privileged to be able to care for my wonderful, kind, loving father during his last days in this world. He cared for me all my life and I hope now I can care for him with the same love, patience and warmth. For the past few days I have felt so low. I have struggled to be strong. But today I felt differently because I have realised what a blessing it is to be able to be here for my father as he dies. I’m so grateful for that. I am heartbroken that I’m losing him, but today I feel blessed that I am here to take care of him.

He’s deteriorating quickly. Two weeks ago we took him to the hospital for the last time. Dad had fallen down the stairs on the way out and was so weak and frail. He was too shaky to get his words out so I told the Doctors, Jennings and a room full of complete strangers standing there staring at my poor dying dad, that he had had enough, no more investigations, painful procedures, he wanted to go home.

Daddy is getting weaker and frailer with each day. It won’t be long now; a few weeks perhaps. But despite it all his mind and spirit remain the same. He’s still his usual funny, lovely self. On Wednesday it really hit me – how ill he was and how little time there is left. He was so sick and having a really bad night. He was shaking as if he had Parkinson’s (the cancer has spread to his brain now) and looked so, so ill. He was confused and in pain and barely conscious. And I realised how quickly it was happening; he’s already on his journey into the next world. He’s dying and it’s plain to see. I was shocked, even though I knew it already. I began shivering and crying quietly. We didn’t think he’d make it through the night. I realised that this experience, this terrible loss, would be the hardest thing I have ever had to face. I have always thought of myself as a strong person, but for the first time I see that I may not be strong enough to survive this."

Today is my dad's birthday. He would have been fifty-one. This time of year is proving to be hard. So many anniversaries that mark the worst year of my life. His birthday, the day they told us he was going to die, the day he died, his funeral. Nine months since I saw his face, since I heard his voice. Nine months isn't that long a time, but as the end of this terrible year approaches, the reality of never seeing my father again beats like a painful drum in the back of my mind. Oh God what I wouldn't give for his advice, his wisdom, his love. I am lost and confused, trying to guide myself through. I trusted him more than I trust myself. His judgement and his selfless love for me meant he would never steer me wrong. What would he say to me now?

My dad had a hard life. His childhood was cut short and he grew up to be an angry, unhappy young man. It was his love and faith that saved him in the end. He paid the price of his mistakes and he atoned for them in his death. Oh God,he was so selfless in the end. He went through all of the treatment for us. He wanted to rest, to enjoy peace in the time he had left. But he let them cut him, for us. He let them poison him, for us. He let them try to burn the cancer out, for us. In the space of nine months he aged twenty years. Fifty years on this earth.

I miss my dad. Some days are okay; I'm learning to be a grown up, to look after myself. But other days are so hard and all I want is to be a little girl again and climb up next to him for a cuddle and listen to him talk. He always talked to me. Even as a little child he encouraged me to express myself and listened to me. He made my thoughts and opinions feel valued and worthwhile. He gave me my self worth and belief. He told me I deserved to be happy, to be respected, to be valued.

My dad was a flawed human being, but he was a good father to me. Not perfect by any stretch, but he laid the foundations that have made me who I am. He loved me so much! I never doubted it for a moment. I was always so proud to be his daughter. He always meant the world to me.

Happy birthday, dad.

A word for Bethany Conroy, my daughter from heaven.

A letter my Dad left for me...

"My little Bethany when you were born you were my 'little munchkin'. God gave me a handmaiden of the Lord to watch over and what a joy it has been.
I tell you my little baby, never has there been such a wonderful daughter, never has a father known such joy and happiness. Thank you little one.
Bethany, take the world by the scruff of the neck and be busy because you can do whatever you want so take advice from mom and be successful and happy.
Remember my baby you are very precious so the man you choose must be right, but I'll not worry for you are no one's fool.
Praise and serve the Lord with all your heart and soul.
I will watch over you, even though your eyes may not see me. Trust that I can see you. Bethany look after your mom for me.
Live long and grow old. Enjoy life for it is truly a gift from the Lord.
With your loved ones I will wait at the gate to greet you. Be joyous.
Godbless my darling daughter. Love Dad xxxxx"

I'm trying dad, I'm trying xxxx

Written by Peter Conroy 15.10.10

"These are a poor attempt at acknowledging my criminal inadequacies as a father. May God forgive me for I never shall. I take responsibility for my wife's failings for she was a child and I a man.

Selfishness

How could I let my children suffer so?
How can a father be so selfish,
Thoughtless and brutish?
My anger and neglect in their youngest life
scarred them like the sharpest knife.
So small, so afraid, wondering what was today's emotional cascade.
A father's role should be joy not task.
Whatever the reason why, that was not the lot for mine.
I gave them love, only unconditional as long as I had my fill.
When I think of the harm I've done,
I cry for what I've done.
The neglect, the histrionics from me and their mom.
My ignorance so, so blind;
I thought not abandoning them made me decent.
I'm always here, except when I'm not.
Oh my poor, beautiful children,
You endured and still do,
Because of memories residue
For the parenting I failed to do.
Now I see you grown and know I am so unworthy of you.
You are so wonderful; your greatest rage belongs to me.
At your least, you are brighter than the sun.
Godbless you both,
I love you.
From the unworthy one.


IF

If I could be anything, I would be what I had not been for my children.
If I could do anything, I would do all the things I had not done for my children.
I would undo all of the things I did to my children.
If, with my blood, I could wash away the pain I caused my children,
I would bleed every drop for my sins against them.
To die a death of a thousand cuts could not;
Would still betray my children.


Guilty As Charged

Why should I have a peace-filled day
When their pain I may not allay?
Why should I grow old and grey
For the pain I gave I cannot take away?
I see their pain etched into their face;
Why should I know peace or grace?"