Have you ever felt as though you were waiting. For what you do not know but you hope that when it comes it will change your life from just an existence to something that you have grasped with both hands and made the most out of. I think that is my biggest problem. The fear of just drifting through life like one of those delicate white seeds that float through the air like little balls of cotton wool that children run along and try to catch. Never making my mark on the world. Never being the person i longed to be and daydreamed about being. In fact, having to face reality, tuck away these dreams in a nice dark corner of my mind and just get on with it. Everytime i slide into slightly depressing and admittedly egotistical thought binges such as these it reminds me of old people. Worrying about how they will catch the bus to town the next day what with their leg playing up, what last weeks answers to the crossword were, which of their friends is not at the coffee morning and never will be again. Surely they feel like they are waiting.
My Dad got up early every morning to go to work and every morning I would lie in bed and hear him moving quietly around the house getting ready to leave. I liked to pretend i was still asleep if he poked his head around the door to see if i was awake. I would squeeze my eyes shut and try to steady my breathing and look as natural as possible and wait. And then smile to myself when he disappeared again as if it was some sort of game that we played.
When he died i remember feeling annoyed. Annoyed that this brilliant man who was my dad had been to a boring job every day. Annoyed that he didnt get the chance to become famous or be in a band or live in absurd luxury or do any of the other things that he had probably dreamt about when he was a little boy. Annoyed that if anything he had had a normal life.
I remember sharing my, slightly pretentious ten year olds views with my mother. "Aah yes", she said with her irish lilt and her untelling face, staring passively into the distance "but he had his little family and his home and his happiness, and for that he was really grateful"
I still think about my mother saying this now. Because at the time and for a long time afterwards, with my restless dreams and grand designs filling my head i had almost turned my nose up at the thought of being satisfied with this seemingly, well, normal life. "I would hate to be normal" i had thought.
More recently i thought of these words again when i gave birth to a healthy baby girl. As her wrinkled skin touched mine for the first time and i looked into her eyes, so lacking in familiar gaze and full of innocence and eagerness, I realised finally what they meant.