21 years

If I live to be 62 years old, over the course of my life, Dad would have been dead for longer than alive. I think that makes sense.

21 years ago today, Dad died. I have written about it over the years, and repeating those words will not change how dead he is.

And to be honest, I don't really think about him that much any more, and I only know of this anniversary because I was reading some old blog posts last night. On a day to day basis now, I don't think of him much, I was 31 when he died, and now I', 51 going on 52. And yet, there have been times over the years when I wish he were still alive. Mostly based around football matches; seeing Norwich promoted in 2004 and then double promotion on 2010 and 2011, and then there was the play off two years back.

The last time I cried over him, and this is a football thing too, was in 2003, standing at the away fan's end of season party, and seeing the old South Stand being demolished. This is where he took me to watch my first games, standing on the long terrace, standing at the front of the stand, so near to the action. And there it was being taken down, consigned to history.

And then there was my marriage to Jools. I would love to have Dad there, meeting Jools and her Dad and step Mum. He would have loved Jools, her sense of humour and wide sensible streak, just what a fool like me needs. Yes, in a life of few regrets, it is that Dad will never know how happy I am now, and that I have found Jools, the cider woman.

Cheers, Dad.