This Is Just A Tribute

On 4 March 2005, a drunk driver went through a red robot and killed my father, grandmother and grandfather. Guess you can say that was the worst night of my life. If you've ever wondered what Alice feels like, try imagining waking up in a world where half of your family is all of a sudden nonexistent. Gone forever. Irrecoverable. It's something I would not wish upon anyone.

After a couple of years one starts to become normal again. Your grades improve, you make friends, you learn new things; time doesn't stop as it should. My life would be a lot different if this 'accident' hadn't happened. I have come to terms with that. Or I thought I had.

Today would have been my dad's 51st birthday. Usually, I'm not overly sad or anything on this day. But today, my word. I did not want to get out of bed, I was a pain to be around all day, I practically felt continuously on the edge of tears. The one thought on a loop in my head was, 'Daddy should be here.' And that was selfish. But it was my way of mourning. The problem with mourning is there's no rule to it, there's no norm to how long you can be depressed and irritate those around you (my poor boyfriend). I didn't want to be happy.

But this evening, while thinking over the day, I realized that I'm not really looking at the bigger picture. I could go into broader terms, mentioning all the other families who have been broken apart by drunk drivers and all that. What I thought of instead was my mom, who lost her parents and husband in a flash. That's when I discover I'm not hurting as much, it's not as bad. And, to top it off, Mom handled this day with a much better attitude than me. She celebrated our blessing. Which is why my mom's the bravest person in the world.

So here's to Roderick Clive Bishop. A man of patience and wisdom. Quiet and gentle. The guy that fell asleep watching TV, with me next to him. The cyclist. The bird-watcher. The audience to my show. The father that I never got to truly know, the father that will never get to walk me down the aisle. The son who phoned his mother in ecstatic hysterics, saying, "It's a girl, it's a girl!" The man who treated my mom like absolute gold.

I love you forever Dad.