Today I’m stretching myself and sharing something more personal than usual. About emotions. Which isn’t my usual style. It’s the emotional aspects of myself I find most personal and difficult to share in any form. I’m a very controlled person, and I like it that way.
But this blog is for me as well as for you, and I want to be honest in describing my travel and adventures. Most days are amazing, some days are ‘just’ great, and every now and then, there’s the odd more challenging day. But that’s ok. The light and the dark, the sun and the shade, all are part of the rich and glorious patchwork quilt of life. I’m happy to include every patch in my quilt.
Airport napkins
I’m in Koh Samui airport, again, and I’m feeling unusually, deeply, sad. It’s Father’s Day in the UK, and my Facebook and Twitter streams are full of beautiful pictures and messages from my friends towards their dads. And I’m sad because my Dad passed away more than 5 years ago, much too young, in his mid fifties.
I miss him every day.
Last night I had a conversation with someone about how unusual it is for me to cry. And how I’m not keen on emotions. Or being emotional. And we talked about why, and I think it’s because of both a need for control, and a dislike of feeling vulnerable.
I’m sitting in a café, surrounded by tourists, in the world’s most beautiful airport (official). I have a long time until my flight because of the limited ferries to get here from the island where I live. I am on my way to Singapore for work. I was in this airport three days ago coming back from Bangkok, and I will be back here again for my return journey in two days. There aren’t many business travellers who come in and out of Koh Samui, so I feel a bit isolated because of that. Distant. But I’m tired too, and that plays into how I’m feeling.
I decide to honour my Dad with a picture and message of love on Facebook – it’s the modern way. I flick through some photos on my computer of the two of us, and I put up one my Aunt sent me recently. Dad and I look happy – he has a glass of wine – it looks like a parish function, as he is in his dog collar. I’m in a dress, unusual. Smart.
I put the picture up, and suddenly wonder if I might cry.
My throat is choked and my eyes feel wet.
A wave of sadness passes through me physically, and my eyes are hot. I blink back tears, and feel annoyed with myself on top of the sadness. I don’t want to share my emotions with these strangers around me. The couple with the cute child in a dress too big for her. The elegant Italian couple having a single expresso each. The British couple reading OK magazine and Mercedes magazine respectively. The two very young, well groomed and neat lads, who have all their travel itineraries and documents printed in a neat folder and are consulting them carefully.
But I don’t need to worry. Everyone around me is wrapped up in their own worlds. Few of us look outside ourselves and our own concerns to what’s happening with others. I do, sometimes, as I like to make up stories and people watch, but then I am a psychologist. I’m allowed. But often I’m wrapped up in my own world in the same way.
I leave my table and go and gather some airport napkins. I’m angry. I snatch them up quickly before the staff member behind the counter realizes why I might be taking them. I sit back down, and a tear falls onto my laptop. I struggle with the emotions; sadness, anger, grief. I wipe the tear off, and decide to take the moment to think about Dad.
Musical memories
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AzMh7zHir1I
I play this song on my laptop in the cafe. I listen through my headphones, on repeat. Dad once played this song for my sister and I on the BBC Essex radio programme he presented each week. A really strong memory for me is listening to it live, and then afterwards, sitting in my parents’ living room, on the sofa, leaning into the circle of my Dad’s arms and feeling protected and loved. He gave great hugs, my Dad, and was very comfortable with physical affection and love for his family. I’m grateful for that. I’m not a touchy person with strangers (in fact I have very strong personal space boundaries), but once I trust someone, and feel close to them, I like to connect through touch.
Perhaps I also feel sad right now because in this current life, this travelling life, this itinerant life, this solitary life – this amazing life – I don’t have many people whom I am comfortable touching like that. Casually, lovingly and openly. Easily.
After the funeral, back at work, I held myself together pretty well. I went straight back to a ‘presentation tour’, where I was part of a team who went round the UK to 7 venues and presented to audiences from 25 to 100 on the latest thinking and products. I functioned, I excelled, I did my job. But one night, a few days in, at dinner in a bar with my colleagues, this song came on the loudspeakers. And I went to the toilets and it hit me pretty hard. I wept tears of loss and loneliness that Dad was gone. I kept my emotions to myself.
So unusually, in this café, with croissant crumbs on the floor, and surrounded by people in their own worlds, in a place where everyone is transitioning, I let myself feel the emotions around losing my Dad. I remember how grateful I am for the support of the rest of my family – how their wordless comfort supported me through that terrible time, and still now. How most of the time, I can talk about him without that emotion, and with gratitude that he was in my life for 29 years.
On my own journey, physical, spiritual, intellectual, social at the moment, every day something happens I want to talk to him about. Something I want his opinion on. Something I want to share with him.
I learnt a lot from my Dad. He was a man who did what he loved, who was deeply spiritual, but open and curious about what others had to say on their own spirituality. Fiercely intelligent, he could discuss anything, and debate with anyone. He loved his family and friends deeply. He loved me wholeheartedly. Absolutely. I have no regrets about my relationship with him, nothing I did or said which I would do differently, apart from wanting more time – to laugh, joke, talk, share, love and be loved.
I want my life to be part of his legacy, passed on through my own interactions, values and life to the people around me.
To be someone he would be proud of every day, in the same way I think of him every day.
Cat says
Ah, El, your post brought a tear to my eye (and I’m cheekily reading this at work: s’okay, I can speedread)! I’m sure, beyond a doubt, that you ARE ‘someone he would be proud of every day, in the same way [you] think of him every day.’ You are part of his legacy, full stop. But you are more than that too, you are making your own legacy :-).
I owe you an email, but I am thinking about you loads.
Cat xxx
ellenmbard says
Thanks Cat. I’m working on it! Sending you love x
marybard1 says
He would be proud of you every day – just as I am. And the photo was taken at the party to celebrate the 25th anniversary of the day he was made a priest. With love, Mum xx
ellenmbard says
Thanks mum!! He lived his life to the full, content and joyful every day. He’s a great example to the rest of us – and he would definitely want us to do the same 🙂 xx
Susan U'Ren says
A wonderful outpouring of emotion and I am sure you feel so much better for it. Your father would, I am sure, definitely be proud of everything you are achieving in your life now and he is with you all your days in spirit if not in matter.
I have always been a person who is always showing emotions and not able to hide them. This can cause embarrassment in others but I find it healthier than bottling things up and it cleans my spirit in many ways. I also believe the East is much more receptive to emotion than the West unfortunately.
Keep up the great blogging
ellenmbard says
Thank you. Yes, I think being in a yoga community in Thailand as I am at the moment is leading me to explore all aspects of myself more openly, soul, body and mind, which is probably healthy. Gives me lots to write about anyway!
El D says
Hi El. Beautiful post. My favourite so far – and that’s saying something. First, crying is a good thing; it releases so much you need to get rid of. Don’t be afraid to cry. And second, you don’t realise how much like Chris you are. You have inherited so many of his best qualities and in that way you are keeping his spirit alive and reflecting him (for me) in you. I’ve downloaded your song to my MP3 player so that I can think of you both when I listen to it. Love you, Elsinora! A El x
ellenmbard says
Thank you! I’m so glad you and the family liked it – it’s been amazing to see how it has touched family, friends and strangers alike. I guess even people who didn’t know Dad, or me, still can relate to the situations. Grief and sadness is a universal emotion because death is universal. I don’t want to cry *too* often, but I’m working on feeling better when it happens! xx
El D says
P.S. Your post made me cry, too, (in a good way). All those memories of Chris came flooding back but it was good to remember him and all the times we shared. (And that video would bring a tear to two glass eyes!)
Caroline Leon says
Oh Elles what a beautiful and tender post. I’m proud to be one of those people you feel comfortable to touch lovingly and openly. I look forward to a bigger than usual hug tomorrow and a nice long chat! xx
ellenmbard says
Thanks Caz, and keep up the hugging, it’s appreciated! x
tess bullas says
El, a sad but lovely post. Sending you a big hug. Lots of love, Tess x x
ellenmbard says
Thanks Tess x
Sam Patel says
“Tears are words that need to be written.”
― Paulo Coelho
Good to see that Thailand is having such a profound impact.
Take care.
El D says
Nice quote, Sam.
ellenmbard says
Thanks Sam, and that’s a beautiful quote. Hope all well with you.
chris says
A beautiful blog Ellen. We will always remember your Dad as a most generous man, especially with his time. When I had computer problems, which was often in those days, he always found the time in his very busy schedule to sort it out over the phone, or visit me at home to put matters right.
A true gentleman of the old school, who will always be sorely missed.Love G’Dad XXX
ellenmbard says
Thanks Grandad. Dad had time for everyone, it was one of the qualities which made him so easy to love.xx
Kat says
What a beautiful ode to your dad. His tenderness and sweet character are so apparent in the pics. I love the top photo of the two of you – you really look like a daughter there. I appreciate you opening up and sharing this with us. Your father is absolutely proud of you, I can see him smiling and he is very aware of your love for him as you are of his love. He is definitely watching over you my dear. Love lives on . . .
ellenmbard says
Thanks Kat. Agama is having this effect on me, being with such open people is definitely helping me to explore myself. And you are right, love is a lasting legacy x
Penny M says
Ellen, thank you. That is a beautiful bit of thinking, feeling and writing, and reminded me, inevitably, of losing my mum. It’s not a loss that’s easy to cope with, or explain to people who don’t know it, especially the idea that the grief is still there, 5 or 10 years later, just really unpredictable in when and where it’ll touch you. You’re so right about the need for people to hug, and hope you find a few of them over there. With love, Penny x
ellenmbard says
Thanks Penny. I know you understand the feelings, and how challenging it can be even many years later. And how weird the triggers can be. I’m keeping up the hugging, and working on bringing down my strong (forcefield strong!) barriers of personal space to do so! x
Anna says
loved this, it was extremely emotional just reading this. thanks for sharing!
ellenmbard says
Thank you for reading 🙂
Dianna says
Love this post, Ellen. We hadn’t had much time to get to know each other, so this post is especially nice to read and feel…to get to know you better. As I told you soon after we met, seeing how open you are to exploring and exposing yourself to the world, to taking on challenging situations and allowing yourself to be vulnerable (transfiguration!) has been beautiful to witness, and helpful for me personally. Thank you!
I look forward to our paths crossing again, maybe right there in Koh Samui airport 😉 Wishing you the best on this Father’s Day, and every day.
Ellen Uma Bard says
Thanks Dianna, glad this touched you, and I really appreciate your kind words. And I am sure our paths will cross again, maybe early Autumn. Have a good Sumer, and take care x