My dearest (Uncle) Fitzy/Fitzpolous/Honorary Greek,
It’s been nearly six months since you left us.
It’s taken me six months to build up the courage to write this, so here goes.
I can’t exactly remember when we met, but, then again, I can’t remember a Saturday at the football without you.
We travelled near and far and you grew me out of a 10-year-old pest, into a capable young worker, who you one day promised your infamous VAFA Division 3 match-day duties to.
It’s been a whirlwind of a football year without you.
Your beloved Hawks unfortunately didn’t make the finals, but, our Power House boys did and I’m sure you’d be ecstatic when you hear we made it to Division 2.
Power House and Richmond Centrals struck a cup in your name, in honour of your tireless work at both clubs. We won it once and Richmond took the points the second time around.
Something about our rivals taking away that cup that night was like losing the last piece of you.
It stung, slowly but then all at once as I brought in the goalpost pads alone, a job we’d done for years, together, overcome with sadness of what could have been.
I miss your canteen scheming and dreaming and your swear jar antics. (I’d say you owe me over $500 dollars by now!)
I miss singing the Power House song with you and your white officials jacket that meant I could spot you any Saturday.
I miss your forward thinking and always putting everyone else before yourself.
I miss your inclusiveness and pure vivaciousness when it came to our footy club.
Match days and trainings and life in general, for that matter, have not and will not ever be the same again.
You taught me about hard work and leaving last and doing the right thing even when it goes unnoticed.
You taught me that a football club could be more than a family. It could be a home.
And I’m glad to call you my home.
Missing you, Anna