me Da . . .

My father died last night, and friends advised me to share stories to work through the grief, but most of my stories of my father aren't fit for sharing.

It is probably appropriate that I got the news from a half-sibling, who has become a good friend and family member to my sisters but who I have avoided getting to know. I didn't want to see my bad dad become somebody else's good dad - it was easier to have that void in my life if I pretended he wasn't capable of being a good dad.

I'm sad that it took our father's death for me to talk to my brother. I won't go to the funeral. I didn't go to my mother's either. I would like to visit my Dad's latest family (he was a one-man United Nations, children everywhere) and get to know them, but not right now.

For now, I'm going to look at this picture, and remember him carrying me on his shoulders as he strode down the beach.

He made me, literally. He also made me who I am, for better or worse. I look at this photo and can't help but smile - I got some of the adventurer genes from him (from my amazing Mum also, she was brave enough to marry him!). He gave me my love of the sea, he gave me the gift of storytelling, he gave me life and the desire to live it well.

Edward Patrick Joseph Barrett - farewell. I wish you following winds