Looking through the window in the door at dad's house in the evening after his memorial.
That time passes so quickly takes me back, I am stunned by the thought that tomorrow would have been my dad's 82nd birthday, one we all thought he'd be celebrating with more to come in the future. I've been cycling through the stages of grief, missing him one moment, mad that he's gone the next and tearing up at odd times.
In a book I'm reading I came across this poem by Henry Scott Holland; it begins:
Death is nothing at all,
I have only slipped into the next room
I am I and you are you
What ever we were to each other,
That we are still.
In my heart I know it's true, but here on earth death is a tearing apart, a seperation across a divide that we can't cross; no more words spoken, no more smiles shared and we are left with memories more precious than gold. Thank God for pictures, and family and friends that still remember "the time when....." What I remember is a father's hug, wisdom shared, laughing at his sarcastic quips, and working side by side.
Happy Birthday dad, love and hugs ;-)
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