It's five years today since you left; feels like a lifetime. It's been a while since we caught up so I figured I should write and let you know how I've been, and how the others are. You'll have to forgive me for not writing this by hand, but given how much you were enjoying getting the hang of technology before you died, I suppose this is fitting in some way.
As you'd no doubt have wanted, we'll begin with the most important topic; you'd be crazy proud of Ben. When you left he felt as though he'd somehow let you down. That always pissed me off, because you were the parent and you should never have let him feel like that. With that said, if you were around now you'd be amazed at how far he's come in spite of everything.
Time tends to warp in my head when it comes to your death; it's very much a "life before"/"life after" thing. I'm not going to give you the whole "Before Andy"/"After Andy" shit because I think you'd agree that's a little grandiose, but I digress.
Ben went to Ormskirk University; he's still there now. Prior to this, he was going to go a year earlier to another university but I convinced him (based on my experience and who he was at the time) that it wasn't the right time for him to go. He maintains to this day that that was the best advice I ever gave him, and given how he's flying I'm inclined to accept such praise.
He graduated from his Performing Arts degree with a First. A fucking first, Dad. Imagine that. It wasn't an easily won grade either. He had his problems; alcoholism being at the forefront of those.
There was a time where I was concerned he wouldn't make it (both to the end of the course and to the end of the year), but thanks to a wonderful young woman named Gemma, a young woman with whom he celebrated his third anniversary two days ago, he got sober and has been ever since. He used his sobriety to pass his degree with flying colours and has since gone on to do a Masters in Psychology.
I wish you could have been at his graduation; Mum wept, naturally. I cried my eyes out. To this day it's the proudest moment of my life. Watching him go up to get his diploma wasn't like watching a 20-something Ben graduate. All I could see was the chubby-cheeked toddler with the shit-eating grin going up there. Of all the things I've witnessed in my life, that day was the first to contain an event I'd call a miracle. Not because he wasn't capable of it, but because he had finally proved to himself that he was.
He had overcome all the events of our childhood; all the bullying at the hands of others, all the insults and fighting with me, as well as alcoholism to prove everybody including himself wrong.
What's even crazier than the educational side of things however, is the fact that we're now best friends. Fuck me, think of that. When you were alive, he and I could barely be in a room together without wanting to rip each other's throats out. Now all we do is laugh. He'd have made a good big brother too; 2017 was proof of that.
I'll come to that a little later.
All this is to say that if you were to weigh all of the things that you accomplished in your life against all the things that you fucked up, Ben alone tips the scales in your favour. He is without question the most remarkable triumph you ever had.
I just wish that you had been around to see it. For both of your sakes. You'd be so proud of him.
Onto Ma.
She remains, to this day, the most amazing woman to have ever been in either of our lives. I think towards the end (and perhaps before) you were aware of that, for all the mistakes you made, but it's worth noting anyway that despite all she's been through she continues to be the sweetest, kindest and strongest woman I've ever known. She would never fucking believe it, but I'll tell her as often as possible anyway. Like Ben, she's my best friend. There is literally nothing she doesn't know about me, and we're closer than ever.
She and I haven't had a crossed word in as long as I can remember; primarily because I stopped being such a moody little shit all the time, but regardless, I'm proud of how close we are. We've been talking a lot lately about all the stuff we'd like to do this year to make up for what a shit-show 2017 was, and I'm looking forward to getting them done.
We've both spent far too long in stasis for various reasons and it's about time we tried to move again. She's strong, Dad. Much stronger than you'd ever have seen her. She's kept the heads of her three kids above water more times than I can count, and still has the nerve to "apologise" for how we were brought up. I wouldn't change anything. Not even the mistakes you made, because they all made us closer in the end.
Anyway, she's happily enjoying time to herself and I visit her about 4 times a week. We sit, we drink tea, we reminisce and we take the piss out of each other. It's nice; it's a place I can go when everything gets too much. A sanctuary. Though she watches some fucking awful television. What's worse is how much I sound like you when I moan about it.
It's only just occurred to me that the reason I refer to her as "Ma" (something commonplace nowadays) is because you'd always ask "How's your Ma?". Must be one of the many things I picked up from you during our time together. Whilst this one is more of a tongue-in-cheek title; I find myself becoming more and more like you the older I get. Many of our traits-in-common are balanced out by those I inherited from Mum.
For example, I'm fully capable of your temper and rage, but generally I'm able to maintain her level of patience and calm. I sound like you, I talk like you did, and I even find myself making similar facial expressions. More and more, I look in the mirror and see aspects of you staring back at me.
In many ways this is both a comfort and a source of trepidation. I've spent a lifetime trying to make up for the mistakes you made, but I'm also proud of the good things we have in common. Not least of which is our love of writing. I'm pretty good at it; arguably better than you. I sing, I play guitar and I still love films. I miss the Sundays I'd spent visiting you; you'd show me a film you thought I should see and I'd sit and watch, learning about the importance that is the art of film-making and storytelling.
I met a man about 10 months after you died that actually guessed where my name was from without prompt. I introduced myself as "Ethan", and he replied "Like Ethan Edwards, from The Searchers.". It blew my fucking mind, and honestly I missed you a lot at that moment. I could picture how pleased you'd be at that exchange. To this day, he's the only person to ever pick up on that. Usually I get "Ethan Hunt from Mission Impossible" or "Ethan Hawke".
Again, I digress.
With today being five years since you died, you've now been out of my life for as long as I had you back in it. That's a sobering thought. Truth be told, I miss you.
There have been many times over the past half-decade where I really wished I could talk to you. At times just to chat, about an upcoming film or some global event, but mostly to find out why I am like I am. To ask you about the parts of myself I know I inherited from you, and to ask you how you felt at my age. To ask you what you'd have done in my position.
So, what have I been up to in the last five years then? Charlotte, the girl I was with when you died, is no longer in my life. To my knowledge she's still pursuing her qualification as a medical doctor and she's doing well.
I finally managed to obtain my passport after months of sleuthing and family-tree climbing and went on my first holiday with four friends. I was pretty low at the time, but I'd love to go back. It was an important time for me in retrospect. Robin Williams killed himself during the time I was away, and I think it brought the world a slightly heightened awareness of mental health. I recall waking up, hungover as all hell, and hearing that news. I sat in the hotel lobby for hours (deep in depression and close to suicide myself at that time in my life) and I couldn't believe it. Somebody that outwardly full of life and love, driven to suicide by the thoughts in his own head.
Were it not for a friend named Jack, and a day spent by the pool alone on a sunny Wednesday in Spain with some cheap beer, I likely wouldn't be here. He saved my life that day. Though you should know, he doesn't think much of your table. He calls it a fire-hazard and thinks it looks more like a ramp than a table. If I die before him, I think I might leave it to him in my will as one final "Fuck you, Jack". He'd probably use it for disabled access or something.
I was working at Avox/DTCC when you were alive. Shortly after you passed away, two men named Mark Roberts and Ashley Powell were kind enough to let me move departments so that I could be with Jake when I returned to work after your funeral. This was the start of my progression there and I won't forget what they both did for me. I went on to become manager of my own Billing department.
I was pretty proud of that; I had a great team working with me and I accomplished some pretty good things. For whatever reason, you dying gave me an actual work ethic. Part of me worries that it's because you had so much talent that went to waste because of the problems you had. It's one of the many concerns I have for myself to this day.
During my time at DTCC, I met a young woman named Hannah. We spent 2 years together. We travelled Europe, and had a pretty turbulent relationship. She had a wonderful family; they really embraced me as one of their own and I won't forget that. 2017 rolled around and I think in the end my mental health and her own issues became too heavy a burden, so we split and she got with somebody else a couple weeks later. There's not much more to say about that.
Travelling might be the closest I ever feel to you on account of how much you always talked about your adventures in Amsterdam and such. I remember being there myself a couple of times (high as a kite) and wondering whether we were both stood in the same spot 40 years apart. I'm hoping to travel more this year to make up for the trauma of last year.
Following the break-up with Hannah, I visited George in Germany with Jake (who I'm now living with). Something bad happened there. I was drugged, robbed and remember none of it. There's unfortunately a legitimate chance that something more happened, so I've had regular blood tests since to eliminate the potential for HIV and such.
Fortunately I'm physically healthy, but the doctor believes that I may be suffering from a degree of PTSD. I'm not really sure about that myself, but I also have no way of bench-marking that type of trauma, so I'm awaiting counselling and we'll see what comes of it. I had to leave my job, and I'm still out of work, but things are on the mend. I'm happier now, and 2018 is hopefully shaping up to be a good year.
I've set a lot of goals that I intend to achieve (not least of which is travelling more) and all being well, this will be a better year and I can start moving on with my life. I'm hoping to pursue writing too; I enjoy it and I'm told I'm good at it. Those two things seem more than sufficient as far as reasons to pursue something go.
Anyway, that's a relatively brief summary of life without you. I'm sure there's more that I've forgotten, but I can't even know if you're reading this so I suppose what I've forgotten doesn't matter. If you're reading it, you already know because you'll have seen it. If you're not; none of it matters anyway.I miss you, old man. I have questions for you, about me. About you. About our family. All sorts, really. I wish we could sit and watch one more film together and shoot the shit for a while, but given that life is what it is I'll have to settle for writing you this letter. I hope wherever we go after this, you're at peace.
You'll no doubt be asking "In the immortal words of The Three Degrees, when will I see you again?"
Somewhere down the line I expect, on this side or the next.
Until then - "Keep a clean nose, watch the plain clothes; you don't need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows."
Rest easy Dad. I love and miss you.
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