The hardest time is how to say goodbye

438 kilometers was all the time that Dad and I had left to spend our time together.....
I know it might seem funny but I think that we both had a touch of disappointment that by sunset we would be back doing exactly what we were doing a week ago. 

Setting off from a not-so-good sleep for Dad due to the volume of bikers and truckers rolling on in; the fact that we were beside the kitchen and possibly that Dad had not shut his window so the cockroaches were putting him off. Rather than having breakfast in "Goondi" we opted to travel about 45 minutes and eat at the best cafe at Inglewood. 

This country town is really were the empire of Brett's began, or at least where the last of the major timber yards is housed. We stopped at the familiar cafe where Dad goes for smoko when he is here and we introduced ourselves to the owner, a lovely lady called "Grandma", chose the special of the day - the savoury mince on toast - which is often the choice of the hungover. She listened with intent when Dad told her that he lived there from 1948 - 50 and lived in the pub, that my Mum worked at the Inglewood hospital for a time when they were courting and that my brother still travels up once every week or two to oversee the timber yard. Funnily the Inglewood pub advertises "Pub Grub" @ "pub grub prices" which is something to note if you are ever passing this way!

 
Off we went to the yard so that Dad could show me the ins and outs of how he has made his livelihood, which is all the many the processes from the cutting of the trees, to the de-barking to the slicing,drying, laminating,  chipping, and packing. Now for a bloke closer to 90 than 80 he was recalling memories as if they were yesterday, his body is far from nimble and his voice no longer booming, but the knowledge was in keeping with a master of his trade.
Comfortable with showing me around the yard and the nitty gritty of how it worked we walked back to the car, programmed home via Toowoomba into the sheila in the car that we must obey, and in 3 hours we were unpacking our goods and chattels in Mum and Dads garage.

I suppose the hardest part of this Blog is the ending, I have spent a week with a man that through my 50 years on this planet I have either admired, feared, loved, hated, avoided, yearned for, wanted approval from, pushed away and this list goes on. None of this I believe is a bad thing, for as we grow as children into adults we  push the boundaries when we feel we can but sometimes it is not when our parents believe we either should/or have the right to do. My father was always a busy man and spent more of his life at work and less at home so for a lot of my life he was an enigma. The one thing that I was sure of was that I was never molly coddled, there was no doubt about his love and that was certain. He would let me stumble but never let me fall, he would stay in "the wings" of my life's performances but I kinda knew that his essence was always watching. 

Now that he is officially old, his tread is not so stable, his footing not so precise and his movements not so nimble; his pride however is as steadfast as the Black Butt trees that have been part of his life and my love for him meant that I would not brandish this at all. Dads role this week was to be my co-pilot, my mentor, the historian on the trip, my role was to be pilot of our vessel, ask for instructions from my navigator and to be close enough to catch him if he fell but NOT to treat him like an invalid, and I believe we fulfilled our roles.

 As the Redwood's roots penetrate into the earth to give strength and support so does the history of my fathers heritage penetrate into all his children his grandchildren and I guess the cousins' at a cellular level. Dad may not be on this planet in a year, or three, or even ten but I will always remember this time with him as one of the most precious times where a father and daughter come together as one.
I love you Dad and I know that you love me too.