It's me again. I wrote to you on your birthday last year, and though I had a scheduled blog post up today already, it would have felt strange not to write again this year. So I sat in bed, with my sodding tonsillitis, (yup, my nemesis returns), and I wrote you this letter.
Once upon a fine and glorious 18 years of my life, I was lucky enough to be blessed with an incredible man that I loved, and will always love, to the very depths of my juicy heart. You, Tommy B, were one of the greatest human beings that I ever did know, and you enriched my life in so many weird and wonderful ways. Even when I was four years old, and my parents thought it was appropriate to cut me a hideous fringe and buy me glasses the size of small planets, you were still happy to be seen with me in photographs. Thank you.
Happy birthday, you fine old devil. Today you would have been 84 years old. I'm pretty sure you would have told us all it was your 21st (again), but still, as much as life took it out of you, I know you would have loved to have been here, having a customary whinge about how dry your birthday cake was, and rolling your eyes at my childish excitement over birthdays in general. I'm starting to think I'll never grow out of it...
I miss you all of the time, but of course, on days like today, you're in the forefront of my mind, and I can't tell you how much I wish I could make you a cup of coffee, watch you mute the TV, and have a good old fashioned chinwag with you, just like we used to.
Today I've thought a lot about the last time I saw you, and the more I think about it, the more I realise what a fine man you were. It must have been so hard for you to sit there, being a little too sarcastic/rude with the nurses to make me chuckle, knowing that the chances of you ever leaving that hospital were very low indeed. Even in the last few days of your long, wonderful life, you were still thinking of me; keeping everything light-hearted, making sure that the last time we would ever be together was a funny, happy experience. You didn't have to do that for me, you know, but I'm eternally grateful that you did.
We were like Batman and Robin gone wrong, and life just isn't the same without you. I miss you for all sorts of bizarre reasons (you were endlessly amusing!), but more than anything, I miss how much you understood my dreams, and how much you genuinely, whole-heartedly believed I could achieve them. Not once did you give me that look that people give to aspiring writers, or try and encourage me to focus on something else. Even in my hideous fringe/planet size glasses days, you look proud of me. I guess, when I look at the photos above, I remember that you probably still are. And that Tomcat, is one of the most invaluable feelings in the entire world.
Lots of love, understated wrestling moves, and flying pizza,
Your Kaff x
PS: I still love a trusty pair of fitted jeans, but there are now fourteen dresses in my wardrobe. Proud?!
PPS: A little while back I met a man with his very own Volkswagen beetle. I am pretty sure I love those cars as much as you did. Beautiful.
PPPS: I miss going to Marks & Spencer to buy you vests.