Hi Fisher, hope everything’s okay where you are, and I hope the New Year finds you well. My family and I had a very quiet Christmas, and the New Year came and went without fanfare.

Please feel free to consider the above the extent of this entry and move on to a cheerier place.

Should you choose to stay, then I hope that you (and anybody who chances across this page) will forgive the following ramble, but I sometimes feel the need to howl at the moon, and since there is an almost tangible echo here right now, this seems a fitting place to do it. You are more than welcome to ignore what I am about to write, I write it to exercise my demons and to give words to that which so often haunts me to silence.

You see, this is to be a particularly difficult year for my family and I as we are being forced to come to terms with something we have feared for a very long time – the mortality of my father. My father and I have always been close, but approximately fifteen years ago something happened that would cement an undying bond of friendship between us that neither life nor death will ever tear apart. My Dad had been a hero to me, even back before this was to happen. He was and, to some extent, still is a hard man – no stranger to the violence associated with a life of crime, but certainly no man of evil or ill intent. He has known many prison cells and he has endured many pains, but he would have it no other way – even now, and neither would I.

Fifteen years ago my father had a massive heart attack, during which he died and was resuscitated. With a permanently damaged heart, the doctor said that if he gave up drinking, smoking and took short regular walks around the garden he may just live beyond a year – but little further. Once home from the hospital, he tried to adhere to the doctors advice, and to his credit it lasted a number of days, but very soon he had returned to his old habits – if a little more subdued than before. It was at this time, while many friends and relatives were shaking their head at his refusal to fear his end that I took the first step towards a friendship that now means everything to me… I took my father for a drink – and we got drunk.

He was a lion, and he was being told that if he wanted to live longer than a month or two, then he must purr like a kitten and never roar again. He couldn’t stand that and neither could I, so we decided to roar. We drank often; my father every day, myself as often as I could join him, and we had many noteworthy adventures, leaving a legacy of stories and lore in our wake. It was hard at first, there were many instances where it felt like his last moments, many times when I wondered what the hell we were doing, and why we were doing it – but every time I had doubts all I had to do was look at my father when he was in his element, and I knew that he could never retire from life in order to live longer. Better to burn out than to fade away, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

As the years passed and life moved on, the fears began to subside and normality slowly crept back in. I found love, and moved to Scotland. It was a difficult time for me then, my partner suffered from severe anxiety and depression and needed constant care and attention. I dedicated twenty-four hours a day to her welfare, a dedication that eventually took its toll on my own condition (which was at that time still undiagnosed). Five years passed while I lived in Scotland, and the hardships compounded my Asperger’s and pushed me further and further towards the reclusive lifestyle I now endure.

When the relationship ended, it was my father I turned to for help, and with that help I was able to return to Blackburn and start my life anew. Dad was completely understanding of my inability to socialize and never once put pressure on me to return to our extroverted life. We still go drinking, but nowhere near as often as we’d both like.

I am still attempting to rebuild my life and overcome my condition, and my father has done more to help my recovery than even the closest of family bonds would merit, but still there is a long journey to take before I am able to return to who I once was.

Several months ago my father was diagnosed with inoperable lung cancer, and this Christmas is expected to be his last. Although he still goes to the pubs every day to meet with his community of friends, share stories and discuss the world, we know now that this time there will be no reprieve. All that can be done has been done, now all that remains is time… and time is no friend to those with much to lose. Every day I am reminded of how much I love him, and how hard life will be without him beside me.

I know that I will endure, because life leaves us very little choice, but so often I wish that life were a little easier… just a little. Every moment I’m awake now time is all that I think of; the time that has passed, the time I have missed, the time to come and the time I waste in dreams of having more time.

I would trade the remainder of my entire life if I could just shake of the obstacles placed in my way by my Asperger’s for the time my father has left, and the frustrating thing is – that it’s possible. The obstacles I face are surmountable, the path to overcoming them is short, but it is something that I cannot do without help; professional help. Unfortunately the national health service here is stretched to breaking point, and although it was accepted that I desperately needed help over two years ago, the waiting list for psychiatrists and carers and the complications within a free health service are such that there is now no hope of my father ever seeing me well again.

And so I howl at the moon, and I endeavour – to what end I do not care anymore. I know that as time passes I will conquer the loss of my friend and the hardships of my condition; I will endure – it’s how I was raised. And while there is little cheer in me this morning, I know there are still smiles to be found, even in the darkest of corners… so please forgive this indulgence, and if you have read this far then forgive the time I have stolen from you. I promise good cheer in my next written entry, with perhaps even a joke or two, but for now I need to rest.

Howling is such a tiring business.