Celebrating Mother’s Day and thinking of Dad

when we were young

Happy Mother’s Day!

Had a great day with the kids today. Walked in the park, had ice creams, didn’t cook and watched “Up” together. It was a lovely family day. I spoke to my  Mum, too. It’s not Mother’s Day in England, but it was good to talk. I would have rung her anyway, but especially since today marks eighteen years since my Dad died.

Eighteen years is a long time.

Grief is a howling beast, a whimpering cur and a familiar blanket. Seven weeks after my Dad had walked me down the aisle I followed his coffin down the same aisle. A packed church filled with current and ex-pupils, staff, friends and our family, all mourning his passing. The sunny graveyard, the moist earth and tears swallowed down hard, all remembered in snapshots.

But his shadow is longer.

Eighteen years later and I still know his face and hands, his comforting smell and his last breath. I miss you Dad, everyday, but you are in everything I do and think and feel and know. Rest in peace.

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