October has been a hard month... for a few years now. It should be a month to celebrate, with Rob and Mel's birthdays, and mum and dad's wedding anniversary and of course dad's birthday is in there too, but the end of October brings with it memories of my dads last days. He was only fifty-five years and sixteen days old when he died, too young -- far too young. He was only ten years older than I am now, I thought he was too young to die when I was only thirty four, but now I'm eleven years older, and closer to his age, it seems even worse. So much has happened in the last eleven years, so many times I wish I could have sat down and talked to dad about what was going on in my life, been given a hug when I needed one, and even when I didn't. Being able to share in the joy of his four youngest grandchildren with him, being able to tell him on his sixtieth birthday that he was going to have another grandchild, but instead I spent the day sobbing for the father I had lost and the child I had discovered I was about to have -- who would never know her Dar. It's been eleven years today, but it may as well have been yesterday because the pain is still great for all of us. It's funny though, lately I have had so many more dreams about