My car (not me – as the calibration is wrong!) ran out of petrol for the second time the other day and I sat on the side of the road staring out the front window with such sadness.  I wasn’t sad that this was an inconvenience, I wasn’t sad that my new car was faulty, I was sad that in this kind of event all I could think of, was what every other wife would do in this situation. They would more than likely phone their husband.  Or if they didn’t, they had the option to.  And so I cried.  I cried because I didn’t want to inconvenience any of my friends, who I know would rescue me in a heartbeat.  I just cried because I wanted Tom to come and save me, even after shaking his head!  I phoned him.  Jimmy, his driver, saved me.  There was no shaking of his head just a glorious smile. As I drove home the song from Ghost Busters came into my head…. “So who you gonna call?”.  It made me think of so many instances where I need to call Tom.  And then I thought it’s strange how things happen, Tom married a very practical girl who does all the DIY jobs……. damn I wish I was a girlie girl and maybe this wouldn’t have happened to us?

The girls and I headed to Kariba on a houseboat with some friends for a couple of days before Easter.  The day before we left Tom gave them a lesson on fishing – how to “tackle up”.  I sat outside with them, in silence, listening to how he described to Ciara the way to secure a sinker on the end of the fishing line and how to thread a hook.  I was so proud of them both as she mastered it pretty quickly from his instruction.  But then I got angry. Why do these girls have to be told how to thread a hook and not physically shown?  The frustration of both father and daughter when words just don’t say enough when the use of hands would have clinched it in seconds.

It’s a sick kind of cruel because it feels like a carrot being dangled……  there’s your Dad but you can’t have him.  He won’t be able to thread the worm on your fishing h00k or take the fish off that you’ve just hooked! And he wants to desperately.  That job is now mine.  And I don’t really want it.  On one of the days I spent a couple of hours doing exactly that, the girls were fishing off the houseboat so they were catching a little tiddler every few minutes.  The experience for them was awesome but I became so overwhelmed at being this “one abled parent”,   I had to walk away and really pull myself together.  Literally physically hold my head in my hands and say “this is for them, this is for them”.  Tom sent me a text and I received it just as we were leaving the harbour.  Sal, be the Dad for fishing and the Mum for loving.  I’m tired and lonely and angry and bitter.  But seeing the girls reel in those fish was all about them.  So I juggled the video camera to catch the moment for Tom, under my arm, with a spare hook in my mouth and a slimy worm in one hand and dislodged a small tiddler with my other, oh and a beer tightly squeezed between my legs!  Yes their first experience of a houseboat on Kariba was with their Mum and not their Dad.

I keep thinking of those kids who don’t even have a dad and I immediately feel guilty for even showing or mentioning my sadness or anger for my girls.  But this is OUR reality and no one else’s and this is how I feel.

The last time I was in Kariba on the same houseboat was with Tom.  And the picture of Tom on his website was taken then.  It haunted me. I saw him on the speed boat calmly holding a fishing rod and sipping a beer with his huge smile.  We had the best time ever with our framily the Malloch-Browns and Greenways, in fact I would say those few days bonded us all so tightly in laughter and framilyhood.  Forever. So where was he this time?

A while back Tom wrote about what inspired us.  Ciara and Erin are my inspiration. 2 children’s lives changed in a breath.  A traumatic accident leaves them without a Dad to hold their hand to the classroom, to practice a golf swing, to turn the page of their homework book, to pick them up and squeeze them so tight it takes their breath away, to dance, to swim, to wipe a tear, to take them for breakfast, go for ride, cuddle in bed.  But to remember how he did these things and know that can never again.

I question why they have had to watch and learn how to help their Dad cough, wipe his nose, his tears, empty his urine bag, lock the house, operate a chair lift, feed the dogs, scream for me because they hear their Dad making choking sounds, worry if Dad will be ok if we go away without him. Accept that Dad will never run cross country at school with them, never take them skiing, or cycle round the block. The inspiration comes in the form of innocence and acceptance by these two precious girls.

I suppose this is what our new life is now…. a question of scales and balances. Sometimes tipping heavily to the side of pure sadness, sometimes perfectly level when it just doesn’t matter, and sometimes crashing down on the other side from love and laughter.  Yip I think that’s what this is, a life of scales.

It’s 2 years since Tom lost the use of his body from his neck down.  2 years that I have cried every day. 2 years since Keeks and Roo physical life with their Dad was abruptly halted.  But it’s been 2 years of incredible hope.  2 years of extraordinary friendships. 2 years of sheer amazement.  2 years of acceptance. 2 years of learning. 2 years of new ways. 2 years of unbeatable grace.

And 2 years extra.