Half My Life

 My dear Dad. You  have now been gone for half of my life and I have now, outlived you, by four years, and I am probably going to live a whole lot longer than you did. But still I live my life, with you no longer in it.

For all the years you lived, and all the years you never got to live, while I remain; the legacy that you left behind is something I am unlikely to outshine. And while I know I made you proud of me with my fumbling efforts, these days I see more of you in myself, than either of us would have imagined. What I was once embarrassed by, about you - I find that now it amuses me to see those identical, cringe-worthy traits in myself.

When I am tailgating slow drivers on the road, I hear you coming out of my mouth, telling the dozy gits to get out of my bloody way. I break speed limits constantly for the satisfaction of being king of the road. Like you, I get up in the middle of the night, to answer calls from someone in need; then I drive off into the darkness to help them. I open the door to the broken and the desperate, giving away all I have on me to ease the pain of another.

I have always remembered you, as I spend infinite hours in a stuffy car, driving to rugby games in the rain; standing on the sidelines, drenched and cold, while I scream at my little heroes to run, run, run. I have lifted the bonnets of cars, a hundred times, to help the boys maintain and fix them; checking oil, running my hand over balding tires, listening for dangerous squeaks and rattles. And like you, I feign sleep in the early morning hours, when they stumble home to the safety of their beds beneath my roof.

I have driven up dead end roads at night, spotlighting possums and wildlife, the assistant of young men on missions to rid the bush of pests. Sitting on sharp rocks every weekend, I have watched these same young men diving for kina, paua, kaimoana; pointing them towards crevices; while I have also swam over deep guts to help and sometimes save them.

 In my life, I have rescued chainsaws wedged in trees, cars stuck in ditches; children from bolting horses, barking dogs, mad cows, angry neighbours; and argued with teachers, policeman, refs, parents, strangers, lawyers, judges, and even friends with a holy righteous, protectiveness that defies hell itself some days. All the time inside my head, I hear Mum saying over and over, "you're just like your father!"  It's a compliment, and it's a honour-being more like you. Being strong and fearless, funny and generous, holding a love in my that reaches into fear and beyond logic to seek the betterment of everyone I hold dear. It's delightful (and slightly worrying) to hear you shouting out of my mouth some days.

Quanah told me recently that being out with me, is liking being out with Grandad, "everyone knows you", as he watched me greeting everyone with a joy and a gratitude that I witnessed you doing over and over again, every day throughout my life. No minute was too short, no favour too great, that you could not give of yourself a little bit more. I nickname everyone I value, laughing at myself for what I perceive as cleverness, but which is perhaps more inclined to same corniness that you once carried, and that I now mimic. I AM, just like you, sometimes. I never give. I open and close my fists at the world, and all who stand in the way of me and my family who I lead and shelter. I dare people to stop us, just like you always did. I try to be brave like you.

Of course there is an awful lot that I can't do, i.e. fish, shoot, dive, hunt, play the guitar, drive a bus, a truck, a tractor, etc. That's all man stuff - dad stuff. However I can make a hangi, and smoke fish, like you showed me and I have taught my sons to make creamed paua in the same way that you taught me, many years ago. 

But for all you gave to the world, we kids, our Mum, your family; we always knew that we were your world, and you would give anything and everything to see us safe, loved and looked after. I still remember you telling me that there was nothing so broken that it couldn't be fixed. Except, sadly, for you in the end.

All these years later, it confounds me to this day that in the fight of your life, you lost. That all the love and all the strength and prayer in this world, couldn't keep you here with us. And I know that life's not fair, dear Lord, I learnt that 29 years ago. But when I do finally get to Heaven, God knows I'll have only one question for him, and that is, "Why did he have to take you from us so soon?" I think that's fair.

I included this story in my short story collection, "Break All My Falls" - released in March 2022.