When I was a kid my dad was the funnest, coolest person in the world.
He loved watching and playing sport, so of course I did too — especially when we would watch WWE and my dad would let me and my siblings do wrestling moves on him and each other.
When I was 10 my family moved to a small NSW town near the Victorian border, deep in AFL country.
My Sydney-born dad decided to become a Sydney Swans fan — because socially it wasn’t an option to not discuss AFL — so I did too.
As our team warms up for today’s grand final, I feel proud and excited, but the heaviness of grief is with me too.
My dad Alan died suddenly two years ago, a couple of days before the Swans made their most recent and most regrettable grand final appearance.
Madeleine, her dad, and sister. Source: Supplied
The Swans were thrashed 133-52 by the Geelong Cats and suffered the worst first-quarter deficit of the last 35 years in a grand final.
So deep was the grief hole I’d fallen into, I can barely remember that day. I don’t think I watched the second half of the game and could only eat a couple of strawberry and cream lollies.
I just wanted my dad to be there. I tried to copy him: he was never competitive and never sulked if his team lost, so I tried to be proud of the Swans for making it to the 'big dance' in the first place.
Feeling so numb and helpless at that time, I couldn’t imagine how I was going to cope having lost one of my biggest supporters; the guy who always encouraged me and celebrated every minor achievement.
The Wedesweiler family. Source: Supplied
After the calamitous grand final, it took a lot of mental energy to pump myself up to go to a game without my dad the following season.
I was anxious at the Sydney Cricket Ground; the Swans’ home ground. I didn’t think I could enjoy the footy without him and the sight of so many kids with their dads upset me.
The Swans lost and maybe I was done with this sport, I decided. At that point, it was hard for me to enjoy anything that reminded me of dad.
This included but was not limited to: 90s Britrock bands, cooking meat outside, swimming in the ocean, talking way too loudly on the phone.
Madeleine, her siblings and dad at a Swans game. Source: Supplied
Remembering fun times I had with my dad helps me.
We once drove a 12-hour round trip to see Manchester United play a ridiculous exhibition match; no one else in my family thought it was worth the effort.
In 2022 we went to the Swans women’s first-ever game and couldn’t care less that they got hammered, we were both just happy to be there.
He would have been so stoked they won the Sydney derby against Greater Western Sydney early in the AFLW season.
When I saw the results on my phone it stung. I know a lot about this stinging bittersweet feeling — it’s there every time something good happens but the person I want to share it with isn’t.
I’ll feel it if the men’s Swans win.
I hate cliches — I don’t believe things happen for a reason, nor do I believe time heals all wounds.
But I do think we can learn important lessons about ourselves from terrible situations, and that therapy and a lot of conscientious effort can help with healing.
Talking about grief helps me too: I’ve found there are always people around us who have experienced devastating losses.
They know about the sadness, the bittersweet stings, and about learning to reshape your life without someone in it.
Two years later our AFL team are in red-hot form for their grand final re-do, having been at the top of the ladder for much of the season and often leading by a generous points margin.
I’ll be cheer-cheering the red and white, grateful I’m out of the hole I was in but still wishing I could watch the footy with my dad.
