Elle Vampa

The first time I saw my father cry was when I was eleven years old. We were at the wake of my grandmother – his mother – and he cried.

Naturally, of course. But I vividly remember realising that up until that moment, in that room, in that situation, I’d never seen him cry. Not once.

(I’d like to take a moment to state that everyone who’s ever said their grandmother was the nicest, sweetest, kindest of them all, is a liar. Because mine was ♥)

My father is one of the strongest people I know. Both physically and mentally. Sure, sometimes he acts like a little brat, but don’t we all? And yes, I suspect he’s “on the spectrum” and that if we were to test him my suspicions would be verified.

But that’s okay. He’s a bit unusual, maybe, but he’s got a heart of gold. Just like his mother.

My dad is the type of man who can fix anything. And seeing as I am really good at breaking things, we are a great match!

He’s clever, innovative, and helps out whenever he can. Always accompanying his work with a surplus of foul language, stress, and worries – but he gets any job done.

My dad is the one I turn to when I need practical advice. Like when buying a new car.

He’s also the one who’s taught me everything there is to know about money; how to get it, how to save it, how to (preferably not) spend it.

The last time I cried was yesterday, when I learned my father, currently in France on an organised group trip, got upset with having to wait so long, he “was ready to walk home.”

When my mom asked him if he didn’t think it was a bit far for his feet to carry him, he grumpily replied he’d done it a million times before: walk home from our local landmark hotel.

…

My dad, my wonderful, grumpy, super-strong can-fix-anything-with-his-hands DAD, on his 74^th birthday, 4 days into France, mistook a French ville with his own hometown.  

And no: it was not a joke.

So yes: the last time I cried was yesterday, after learning my father is getting too confused for me to ignore.

And I can’t help but feel like that song by JAX:

You’re too young to be old, you’re too fast to be slow
You’re too wise to be confused, and I can’t do this on my own
Your lungs are strong, your mind is sharp
Daddy please don’t break my heart
And stay, don’t go

You’re too young, far too young to be old

JAX

Because the secret is: maybe our parents never stop seeing us as their little babies. But we don’t stop seeing them as the people who will always be there for us.

Strong, wise, safe. Like a rock. Like it will never change.

But it is. Changing. And I can’t help it.

I’m not ready for this part. Daddy, please stay. Just a little longer. Please?