Tuesday 9th February
I love you
As powerful as the waves
As high as the clouds
As strong as the currents
As dependable as the tides
As blue as the sky
As mighty as the wind
As deep as the ocean
As soft as the sand
I love you.
Angel son.
xxxxxxx
A stormy afternoon at the beach today
Monday 8th February
Three hundred and thirty three days
I miss you in so many different ways.
My sweetheart little Angel boy
Our lives are missing all your joy.
You just want him there with you
But you know he’s not going to.
He’s in your head all the time
Little starman, soaring sublime.
Love you forever.
Missing you every day.
xxxxxxx
The three of us, London, April 2014
Sunday 7th February
The last time we all went to America for our summer vacation was in August 2014.
Most often we would begin and end our road trips in North Myrtle Beach SC; we got to know the area very well indeed, and have many friends there.
Following a heavy afternoon storm, with much rain and thunder, we decided to eat at the Overtime Sports Bar. You loved their giant plate of nachos, and could watch a myriad of television screens.
Nachos and screens and motorbikes and NASCARs
When the time came to leave, I think we hovered inside the entrance for a while, as the rain was still lashing down.
You took it upon yourself to clamber all over the carved statue of their Carolina Panther. A formidable looking beast.
You and the Carolina Panther
I bet Overtime will be exceedingly busy, with the Super Bowl 50 being played tonight.
I wonder how well the Carolina Panthers will do against the Denver Broncos?
I’m not sure you would have been that interested in the game, but you certainly would have watched Beyoncé in the half-time show.
You thought she was pretty awesome, and you could do a mean impression of Crazy in Love.
So, my little Angel.
Look down and sing along with Beyoncé.
Thinking of you and that Carolina Panthers statue.
Love you forever and ever.
xxxxxxx
Saturday 6th February
“If there is a
heaven
for me,
I’m sure
it has a
beach
attached
to it.”
~ Jimmy Buffett ~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Wandering along the beach
Lost in your own little world
Underneath your arm
A book is tightly furled.
Your brother would be surfing
Bodyboarding in the ocean
But you would take no notice
As reading was your passion.
That summer we’d stopped
At Daytona Beach in Florida
With cars driving on the sand
This, our annual trip to America.
The speedway and its museum
Were really quite fascinating
Programming noise simulators
High octane engines pulsating.
Are you still walking along
The beaches up in heaven?
The breeze through your hair
The sand in your toes, I reckon.
Goodnight, my little wanderer
May you walk the shores forever
One day I’ll bump into you
And then we will be together.
Love you, beach boy.
Missing you every day.
xxxxxxx
Wandering along the beach at Daytona
At the speedway museum
Thursday 5th February
Dr. Seuss certainly had it right about reading. You loved your books, you had an amazing knowledge of trivia, you learnt so much, and you travelled more than most.
From the early days you sought out Enid Blyton and Winnie the Pooh, Thomas the Tank Engine and Beatrix Potter: you just couldn’t get enough of the written word.
Your childhood was filled with books.
You loved history, myths and legends too, reading avidly about the ancient Greeks, North American Indians, the Bible, early settlers to the Caribbean islands and Indian folklore and their gods.
You would hunt down all sorts of books on horses as well, and had quite a big reference collection.
The classics too: Homer’s the Iliad and the Odyssey, Aesop’s fables, Alexander Dumas’ The Three Musketeers all fascinated you. Anything with a bit mystery, fantasy and epic storytelling would keep you quiet for hours, as you became spellbound by the rich tales in front of you.
And then there were the cartoon comics, from Disney to Marvel, and your favourites, He-Man and She-Ra, you were always wandering around with a book or magazine under your arm, that’s if you weren’t sitting still.
All your books are still upstairs on the shelves in your bedroom.
Are you still reading, my Angel?
Love you sweetheart.
I’ll read a silent bedtime story for you.
Missing you so much.
xxxxxxx
Thursday 4th February
Today would have been my father’s eighty fourth birthday.
He succumbed to pancreatic cancer in October 2009.
He was a fighter pilot and flew many different aircraft, all over the world.
The poem, High Flight, by John Gillespie Magee, an American, serving with the RCAF, flying spitfires in WWII, seems a very apt and appropriate tribute to my father.
My father, flying the lightning in the foreground, for 56 squadron
My father visiting the Canadian RAF, in front of a starfighter
My father bringing the fleeing Shah of Persia to England in an English Electric Lightning
My father, in front of his F4 phantom
Phantoms, 43 squadron in formation
My father, in his phantom, shadowing a Russian 'bear'
My father with members of the Blue Angels aerobatic team
My father, teaching Prince Charles to fly the phantom
56 squadron in Cyprus. My father exiting his lightning
My father, on board his yacht Rum Raisin
Hank n Frank, Tobago, 2002
In the last picture, here you are with your grandfather Hank.
(He disliked the names of Dad, Daddy, Father, Grandfather; so everyone called him Hank.)
We had so many wonderful sailing adventures with him on board his yachts.
Give each other a hug.
Miss you, my Angel father, Hank.
Love you, my Angel son, Frank.
Flying high together.
xxx xxx
Wednesday 3rd February
We miss you so much
Because
We loved you so much.
We have so much to remember
Because
We did so much together.
It hurts so much
Because
Our hearts are broken.
That’s the way it’s going to be
Because
You’re not coming back.
I’m trying to be strong
Because
I’m sure you’d want me to be.
I’m finding it difficult
Because
This is all new to me.
Love you forever
Because
You’re my Angel son.
xxxxxxxx
The harbour this afternoon
Tuesday 2nd February
I’ll forever question why
You went to sleep that night
And didn’t wake up again
Never seeing the morning light.
With your head upon the pillow
Silently, to the angels you flew.
That your time was up
Just came out of the blue.
You’ve gone too soon, my boy
I’ll never get used to that
We were making so many plans
Now, swept under the mat.
Love you baby.
Missing you always.
Dearest Angel son.
xxxxxxx
Monday 1st February
You’re in my head
Every night and every day.
Safe within my heart
Is where you’ll always stay.
But I’ll never be the same.
Our lives are different now.
Just trying to move forward
Is an effort somehow.
The lightness of being
Has been truly replaced
With a constant dull ache
New obstacles to be faced.
I’m trying to be strong
But without you, I’m miserable.
Nothing seems to matter
It really is quite pitiful.
Sorry for being so forlorn
I’m just having a bad day.
That you’re not here
Simply fills me with dismay.
Love you sweetheart.
Precious Angel son.
xxxxxx
The Journey of My Left Foot (whilst remembering my son) 