To my father.

My dear friends,

I’m so very sorry for my prolonged absence. Under the Vintage Veil will resume normal business at the beginning of next week. I’m also so sorry to those who have written to me in the last couple of weeks – I will try to get back to you all, please forgive me.

Even as I write this I’m in a state of profound shock, so please also forgive any errors.

As many of you know, for the last six months I have been working alongside caring full time for my dad, who was diagnosed with cancer of the stomach and oesophagus just two weeks before our wedding, and was subsequently cared for by John and I, and very quickly after my awe-inspiring brother joined us to spend more time with him.

Last Wednesday night, my father, Zvi Doron, passed away at the age of 59 with his close family (myself included) by his side.

My dad was an avid blogger (although anonymously and more on the topic of Middle East politics than weddings), and he was a true poet and wordsmith. Any tribute to him here, where I choose to express myself seems inadequate.

I’ve not only lost my father, but the world has lost a great artist, poet, organiser, sailor, cyclist, songwriter, guitarist, astro navigator, sliderule enthusiast and (as you can probably gather) serial hobbyist, whose thirst for knowledge and enthusiasm for the world around him was unparalleled.

My father was one of my greatest cheerleaders (alongside my mother and husband). He was my biggest fan when it came to my ill-judged attempts at singing, and I have promised him I’ll continue to write and sing. I was perpetually his baby – no matter how old or married I became. I will have to learn to live without that very special love and relationship that saw me through my whole life so far – there is now a fundamental piece of me missing and it will be a long road to finding out who I am now.

And, for the sake of honesty, I won’t lie and tell you all I’m fine. His lost has left me bewildered, devastated and isolated. The idea of being just twenty five and potentially having decades without him in my life feels cruel and overwhelming. The world feels a less safe place for it. I’ve gone from completely numb to howling with grief to bitter anger in the space of minutes. On a smaller scale, the idea of going back to work isn’t an easy one, but perhaps this is an opportunity to make more of what I already have.

An old friend of mine wrote me a wonderful letter, explaining that the hardest part is accepting that life will never be the same, and wisely advised me to focus on rebuilding, starting again, instead of trying to go back to normal.

So my dear friends, be patient with me while I rebuild. I’ve changed immeasurably in the last few months and I can’t imagine that process is over. This blog may change and grow with me and I’ve decided I’m OK with that.

And to my dear Abba, it’s only been a week and there are already so many things I want to tell you. I don’t know how to get through each day without you, you are so much a part of me the separation feels unbearable. For your sake, I will try, I will focus on your words of encouragement and I will work hard to make my dreams come true and hope that you’re watching. I will miss you forever.

Image © Satureyes

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