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SOMEBODY’S MISSING (Episode 82)

 SOMEBODY’S MISSING

 

 

PodBean Link for those who like to listen 


This morning the air has been sung in fresh by the dawn chorus. It carries hints of green and fuchsia.

 

Alt text suggests that this week’s photo is a person sitting on a lawn with flowers. I say it is a photo of my lovely dad and the flowers we chose to celebrate his life at his funeral.

 

This is the first new month that has started without my dad being here. I’ve learnt that I want to tell everyone what I learned from him. I’ve learned that one of the best things I can think of to do right now is carry forward the very special parts of him to the best of my ability. I’ve also learned that writing some of this down in a poem felt right, but that reading said poem when we gathered together to say goodbye to him required a large hanky and plenty of time for deep breaths.

 

I am so glad he came into my life when I was young and built us a family to be proud of. There’s so much that wouldn’t have happened without him. The slideshow that was put together of photos of him had us all looking through our photo albums so that we could bring together our favourites, these small snapshots of time brought back a huge set of memories. They play like the flickering reels of an old film in my head when I am out walking. Light evenings and dawn chorus mornings give me perfect times to walk these thoughts.

 

I have added the funeral service to all the ways I have been trying to say goodbye and thank you since he died, and I take comfort in the lines from Mary Chapin Carpenter’s ‘Looking for the Thread’:

 

“... I made a prayer from what you said
that no one is ever dead
because time and love remember...”

 

And I think I might be crying at Johnny Cash’s version of ‘You Are My Sunshine’ for quite some time, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.  

 

Here’s the poem, and I hope it gives you a flavour of my lovely dad...

 

SOMEBODY’S MISSING

 

So we’re carrying parts of him with us.

 

The way he took time to lay out the tools

strong-armed and patient in blue boiler suit

always prepared to check and check again.

 

The way he turned his head to look and smile

never minding being interrupted.

That quiet, gentle, I’m alright, thanks my love.

 

The time I called him

from somewhere between Crawley and Croydon.

Parked up. Feeling lost.

To hear him tell me exactly where I was

based on the wrong turns I had taken.

 

Steadfast, kind,

reminding me to take a breath,

look straight ahead

then keep on going.

Meeting me on a country road to lead me home.

 

 

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