A day trip to Southport today.  In the evening I’ll be meeting Chris off a train and driving him to watch AFC Fylde take on Stockport County.  As National League North fixtures go this one is massive.

But that’s the sideshow.  I’m meeting my Dad for the first time in over a decade before Chris gets into town.

I think, without getting into detail, it’s fair to describe it as a strained relationship.  While the Christmas cards have been exchanged there’s not been a lot else in recent years.  Perhaps I’ve been guilty of expecting the older participant to commence the work to bridge the gap.  The lyrics to that Mike and the Mechanics song seem poignant.

At the same time as my diagnosis his second wife died.  I held off sharing my news until a couple of days after a funeral that I wasn’t invited too.  It must have been tough to lose a wife of thirty years one week and then discover your son is dying the next week.  I felt somewhat moved when he mentioned “thirty happy years”.  At the same time frustrated at how little we’ve involved each other over those thirty years.

I doubt it will be a day full of reminiscing.  I don’t expect we’ll go over old ground.  And perhaps there’s little point in doing so.  But maybe it can be the start of something acceptable before one of us checks out on life.  That shouldn’t do either of us any harm.

Still Hoping For That Miracle