It’s been a nice weekend. One quite sad thing happened though.
I mentioned Stockholm in passing to my Mum (there was a context but it’s irrelevant) so she said how my Dad was stationed near there in the army (he was in the army during the 1960s) and how he’d learned to ski there.
I had no idea he could ski. I also had no idea he’d been to Stockholm.
It’s difficult to truly explain how hugely shitty it feels to know that I can never ask him about such things.
I knew stuff of course but not everything. During those 23 years of my life when he was alive, it didn’t occur to me. Probably because I was too busy assuming he wasn’t going anywhere. I picked up bits and pieces but clearly not as much as I wish I had.
It sucks. But that really doesn’t get my point across anywhere near as much as I’d like it to. It’s a ‘words cannot describe’ sort of thing. In a way that makes you feel like you’ve punched as you realise stuff that your brain really should have realised before.