How I Learned to Treasure What I Have, No Matter How Imperfect

It should not have taken this to start over, but it did

Opportunity is not the right word to use for this kind of starting over.

And, yet, there was an opportunity at hand. An opportunity to be the loving daughter I should always have been. And an opportunity to give back to my dad for the life he gave me.

But I shouldn’t have waited for this to be the catalyst to do so.

You see, a little over six years ago, my father lost the love of his life to cancer.

My dad — small man, big heart

As a child, I adored my dad. During my teen years, after my parents divorced and my mother became more distant and challenging to be around, his easy-going and fun approach to life was solace to me.

My sister and I had a lot of freedom in his house. We were treated as equals, taking it in turns to cook, and our friends were welcome anytime. They, too, felt cared for and loved by him.

But, when I was in my early twenties, we clashed over my choices in life. I wanted to try new and different experiences and it didn’t go along with his desires for me.

Choosing not to pursue my studies in English Literature and Theatre disappointed him. Following that, choosing to go and live on an organic farm, learn to grow food, and be more self-sufficient was really going against the grain. He had come from a family that celebrated and rewarded academic ability and, in his eyes, I was wasting mine doing menial work.

So, I put up invisible walls and did what I wanted to anyway.

Cue the doting Balkan wife

After he married Ani, the two of them would make the effort to visit and spend time with both myself and my sister.

Ani was fun and kind, yet maintained an objective distance from his adult daughters. She didn’t have any children of her own and so she embraced us. Just not too closely.

She was naturally curious and chatty, which was always welcome, until it wasn’t.

Despite the fact that my dad never held onto any bad feelings from prior disputes, Ani would not hold back from telling me how inconsiderate I was for going against his judgement and giving him cause to worry. I wasn’t entirely convinced it was any of her business.

However, she was an outspoken and well-educated Romanian woman who argued her points with the force any good Balkan wife would. She had many more of them to argue out with me, too.

It took a while for Ani and me to clash properly. You see, she was extremely likeable; she was warm, she loved children, she had a great sense of humour, and she was direct and upfront. She didn’t hide anything or carry any airs or graces. What you saw was what you got with Ani.

I could see why my dad adored her so much.

But her opinions…oh her opinions…they began to grate on me. I nearly cracked when she told me I was cruel for bringing my daughter up on a vegetarian diet. To a Romanian mind, where meat is the norm and vegetarianism is a choice, a child should be given the norm to then be able to make a choice.

(FYI, my daughter was allowed to choose whatever she liked and, later, rather than choosing meat, she chose veganism.)

I don’t even remember what it was that pushed me over the edge, but something made me eventually snap at her. I guess she hadn’t known when to stop assuming her authority over me.

I chose to keep a certain distance from Ani after that. Unfortunately, that meant keeping a certain distance from my dad too.

But, to my mind, if he was going to be with this difficult woman, then he would have to accept the distance. And, in any case, he and I didn’t have the same views on life.

So it was fine by me!

We would talk on the phone often enough, and he would come to visit on occasions. I rarely visited them but would see them at my sister’s holiday home in France most years.

I had no real difficulties when I did see Ani, except that I felt criticised by her most of the time and she was becoming more reactive with stress in her work. She was always exhausted when I saw them and easily triggered.

And then, in early 2015, we discovered why.

She was diagnosed with Stage IV cancer of the stomach and it had spread to her liver and one lung. It was a rare kind and was complicated to treat.

For the next nine months, they were mostly withdrawn from the world. My dad became a full-time carer for her, and she didn’t want anyone to see her in her chemo-ridden state. But she had one thing to say to me.

“Sally, if I die, you must look after him. I can’t bear to think of him alone.”

And then she added:

“And make sure that you feed him meat sometimes.”

She was, after all, a good Balkan wife.

I tried my best to be supportive from afar and rooted for them that their prayers for her survival would be heard.

Something in her changed in October of that year. Her physical state had deteriorated from the months of chemotherapy, but she became softer within as time went on.

I visited them in their flat in London and she came into the room in which I was staying one day to tell me that she appreciated all that I was doing to be there for my father.

That touched me.

In December, despite all of the doctors’ hopes that this round of chemo would finish the cancer off, the cancer took a hold and ravaged her body. On the morning of 20th December, I was racing up the motorway to the hospital in North London where she lay.

She was a mere shell of her former self but what remained was an abundance of love and forgiveness. She knew I had come to be there for her, and for my father, and she showered me with her gratitude.

I gave her photos of the children which she put beside her bed. But, by the next day, those photos no longer had their rightful owner to enjoy them.

Ani’s heart stopped beating soon after midnight on 21st December and she left this world to fly with the angels.

The following days, weeks, and months were excruciatingly hard for my dad. But, between my sister and me, we helped him to pack up the life that he had shared with Ani and move to be close to my family.

My sister, at the time, was living in The Philippines but supported him as best she could from afar.

My dad had adored Ani, and to live on without her was not what I would ever have wished upon him. But, what we discovered then was something else.

We found a new way to exist in support and care of one another. A new way without judgement.

We both started over as father and daughter, supporting one another despite our opposing views on aspects of the world around us. He grew into the role of “granddad” and started to get to know my children properly.

My children adore him and I am beside myself with delight that he has been such a big part of their lives.

This isn’t a perfect ending, but it’s the best we could have wished for after all that happened.

A final moment

On Ani’s last morning on this Earth, as I drove up the motorway, watching the sunrise as I sped from the South West up to London, a song came on the radio.

It was called Awkward Annie by British folk singer, Kate Rusby.

As I listened, the tears started to gush. There was something so uncanny about this frustratingly untethered, carefree and headstrong Annie being described that could have just as easily been me as it could her.

“I gave to you a horse, A silly fool, of course For you rode away, My Annie.”

And this closing part was the part that choked me up so much:

I gave to you my heart, You tore it all apart When you rode away, My Annie.”

My dad chose to play it at her funeral.

Here is the full song. Enjoy!

And may you treasure all that you have, no matter how imperfect.

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