So today marks 19 years since Dad died. I've been thinking about him lately. Here with his sister, my aunts, all gone now.

I know it's getting older and knowing there's fewer days to come, but I do think more about the hereafter and Baiame and if we'll see each other again. https://twitter.com/sandyosullivan/status/1278310395246071809

I should have said 'sisters'. In this photo he was a couple of years older than I am now. The grief in my family - which I don't necessarily want to dwell on - was often countered by stories, laughs, things shared, visits, Aunty food, and a fair bit of stoicism as well.

The expectations were always pretty low, and whatever we all achieved was enough. I've tried to remember that during the recent harder times as that generation of Dad's side of our family have gone. I wish they could see how we fight now, and I don't mean that disrespectfully.

They fought differently to now. Dad was born in 1930 and I think about his life and his sisters' lives and they survived, and so many of our family survived because of that. And in the end they were together. I hope they're together now and that they found peace.

I only have two pictures of me with Dad (I'm the littlest one with my 2 sisters & 2 brothers). Both were taken on the same day in 1969. I really love the hold I have on him here. He had big hands, I would grab one and drape it around me, because he wasn't a hugger but I was.

This feels like important remembering. I write all the time about the power of us telling our complex stories and not being corralled (or subtweeted) into the story people expect - especially as Aboriginal people of a certain age - but I don't always take my own advice on it.

I want to remember the positives to get through some of the harder times. I don't think that this whitewashes (pun intended) the horror of what happened, but it also shows a complexity of our experiences. Even the joking about some of the bad stuff was a part of it at the time.

Until yesterday I hadn't realised I only had two photos of me with Dad (taken on the same day in 1969). I never realised I had no photo with Grandma or with aunties. But what happens, I think, when you have even one or two, is that you're so grateful for them, that it's enough.

And I think this is a metaphor for something I've been struggling with a lot over the last six months. Any little connection and all the remembering feels like a gift. I'm no longer mourning loss (or what was intentionally taken) because I'm so grateful for these small things.

For me, that's not an 'all is forgiven' reconciliation message. Our lives are complex and we can be grateful for things, angry about things, happy even, and still want to effect change. They don't have to be at odds with one another. And, I didn't get to that thinking by myself.

Over the last few months it was @BronwynCarlson, @leesawatego, @DrSRP1, @TessRyan1, @JCBourne7, @BronFredericks and @AnitaHeiss (& many others) who allowed for this complexity, shared their own, and lifted up the idea of what's possible. I'm really grateful and hungry for more.