LEP 21ST JAN 2015

January is a time when we all look forward, but for me its

also a time when I look back. It was 28 years ago this
week that my dad left us and, after all these years , its
taken me by surprise that it still affects me. In fact it
bothers me more now than it did when I was a teenager. I
suppose at that age youre not prone to reflection, but
more concerned with just living in the moment. As I have
aged though I have realised more keenly what place he
would have occupied in my life. The gap feels bigger now.
That has shaken me a little this week as I hadnt expected
to feel so sad time is meant to heal isnt it? I havent
cried today but then in the past there have been years
when I was at university perhaps when the date would
completely bypass me, until my mum would mention it..
oh.. yes, yes, I know mum Id reply on the phone, silently
kicking myself. Thats terrible isnt it? So why do I feel it
more now than 10 years ago? As life settles down and you
look at where youve ended up, you do begin to put the
pieces of your life together and see more clearly the
picture youve created for yourself. I often and by that I
mean almost daily wonder how my personal and
professional choices might have been different if he had
stayed alive. When he died everything became centered
on my mum, and the responsibility I felt I had to her. At
the very least my choice of university many years later
was dictated by its proximity to Preston. Thank goodness,
Lancaster University was a fine institution, and one Im
still involved with now. Try as I might, with the power of
my vivid imagination, I can never re-write my history with
my dad still in the picture because I dont know how he
would have changed over those years. Would he have
mellowed? Would he have supported me in doing
journalism a career that is unpredictable, with unsociable
hours. How would my parents relationship have
changed? The questions start as a drip, drip, and end up
as a tidal wave. And small tears prick up beneath my
eyelids as I write. I was 9 years old when he suffered his
second heart attack in as many years and that was it the
final straw. No third or fourth chances. He was 42. He was

overweight, and didnt look after his health as he should

have, but 42 still feels harsh, dear Mother Nature. Im 37
now and have a little boy who is 2. I thought he was old
when I was younger of course I did your parents always
seem like they are ancient when youre a kid. He wasnt
though was he? Just a few years older than I am now and
with plenty of hopes still left for his daughters, and I think
especially for me, his youngest. Its no coincidence that
Im writing while Im having lunch at the gym. Its packed
with folk here today ah yes, the new year, new me
brigade are out in full force. I suppose I must be one of
them. Nothing changes though I still battle bad eating
habits and zero desire to do exercise, year after year. The
unhealthy gene must be one I inherited from my dad! He
still lives on in me it appears. This year will be different
though (she writes hopefully). As I approach 42 - the
meaning of life, no less, according The Hitchhikers Guide
to the Galaxy I know I dont have forever to sort this
body (and mind) out. And annoyingly it wont sort itself
out while Im sleeping, in some miraculous way. Theres
no alternative now I have to do it no longer for the sake
of vanity but because I want still be in the picture my son
creates for himself by the time hes 37. Ill keep you
posted on my progress and if you want to chat before next
month, then send me your 2015 healthy aims on Twitter
@ranvir01 and we can encourage each other!