If you are lucky, you will have an individual in your life that will effortlessly guide you safely home through any and every storm. I would never consider myself lucky in any respect but I do indeed have such a person. I have a Lighthouse.
My Lighthouse is the only person who has seen me at my worst and at my best and is still here. They make space for me, talk to me and value my opinion to the point where they actively seek it out. They do two things better than anyone I have ever known; they listen and understand. Might sound simple but if you find a person who does those last two things well, don’t let them go.
They taught me the art of conversation. The skill of being quiet while someone else is talking. Not just quietly sitting there waiting for my turn to talk but being silent and present for the other individual. Once I learned how to do that, I realised how many people don’t.
My lighthouse is my dear Pops. My Dad. He is quiet, unassuming, well read, articulate and funny. He has a quiet strength that has been something I’ve depended on throughout my life. He never panics and for me, where I seem to bounce from one hideous life event to the next, he is exactly what I need.
This year I have made an extra effort with my rather introverted Dad, to meet up for lunch regularly and it’s been fabulous. We will definitely be taking this new tradition into 2025 and beyond. In a group environment, my Dad quickly becomes a stoic part of the background. He is never loud. His opinions don’t swamp any room. In a sea of loud extroverts, folk who love to talk and have the floor – he will often retreat. Not in sadness but in quiet contentment that the social engagement will simmer quite nicely without him having to add to the show.
In a one-to-one setting, he really shines. Phone calls are often awkward and text messages fall flat but the face to face game; my old man has down. For years he has been my ‘go to’, for advice, reassurance and calm. When life hands me yet another lemon, I call him. Throughout my numerous doctors appointments, surgical consultations, bad news days and recovery periods, I know one thing – he’ll be there. When my daughter was born and was quickly whisked away to the NICU, I found myself alone and heartbroken and the first call I made without hesitation was to him.
When I became a step parent at 22 years old, those first few years were challenging as my two, now adult daughters, pushed every button I had. They were young, hurt and confused. Despite meeting their Dad a couple of years after he split from their mum, they made sure I knew my place. I was not their dad’s first girlfriend post mum either but they were still determined to encourage me to abandon ship. To do what everyone else had done in their young lives up to that point…leave.
My Dad was the voice of reason throughout this whole ordeal. I loved those girls and their Dad and had done nothing wrong, which made their antics so painful but with some quiet guidance and support; I was able to love them through it. Behind every strong and well adjusted daughter is a patient and calm Dad that loved them through it.
We have said some soppy and lame stuff to each other over the years that I cherish. I’ve also uttered some vile thoughts out loud in his company too. I guess when you make someone feel that they can be themselves around you, they do, even at their worst. After yet another horrendous doctors appointment in my 30’s, in a moment of acute emotional pain, I looked my Dad in the eye and said,
“If you had known at the start, it was gonna be like this, would you have still had me?”.
It was one of two distinct low points where I blurted out my chain of thought with zero consideration for how those thoughts landed with another. He reacted the same way both times. Picking me up off the floor, pulling me into his arms and hugging me til I was done.
During our lunches we talk about anything and everything. He comes alive when talking about books, it’s wonderful to see him talk with such passion. We chat about work, life, music and the day to day. We chat about health, retirement and our future concerns. We speak in the same way and only when we are together do I realise that our conversations are the only ones in my life that take no effort whatsoever. I don’t have to be careful, guarded or measured in my responses. I’m not being talked over or spoken for. None of our comments are misinterpreted or taken to heart. We are in the moment. Listening and really hearing each other and our phones are off the table.
My Dad is my person. My safe space and it amazes me how he has managed to make it through his life without having a group of or one single real friend. I asked him recently whom he would speak to or go to if he really needed support outside of mum and without hesitation he said,
“I have you”.
Our relationship has taken years to reach this place and although I often wish we had what we have now right from the start, part of me wouldn’t change our journey. I was guarded for so long as a child. I never knew back then, what I needed – I already had. He was always so calm and I was definitely not that. I was very loud and felt every emotion very deeply. He was so quiet and I always mistook his peace for cold. I called him a hologram once. Always there but not really accessible. Truth is, he was accessible all the time, he was just quiet and all I needed to do was ask. I never asked and I kick myself for that now.
With the passing of years and aging parents, I’m very conscious of making the most of our time. Not in a sad way but in an intentional one. Being consistent in making time to pause everything and have that lunch or whatever. To say what you want to say and tell them what you’ve always wanted them to know.
My Dad has told me he loves me twice in 40 years. I longed to hear that as a kid but my family just didn’t do that kind of thing. I’m only just understanding now as an adult that he just kept showing up, whenever I needed him. I was a tough nut to crack but he played the perfect long game. If he never tells me again, that’s ok because he shows me in such a way that I never need to hear it. .
To My Pops. My Lighthouse. I’m so grateful that I can also sit across from you and say,
“I have you”.