Small Town

My Father’s Day

In a few days I will be the same age that my father was when I got married. And in a few months it will be 10 years since he breathed his last.

I have never kept a track of the years and months after his death because he seems so much a part of my life even now. I often think Oh, this is just what he would like. Or I wonder how he would have reacted to something. We shared a lot of views; both Leos after all. He gave advice rarely, and when he did it was worded very simply.

As I grow older, his words come back to me suddenly, giving me solace and support. I remember he used to sit up reading the newspaper while I wrote letters or watched a TV programme he was least interested in. No discussions or chatter. Just a companionable silence, as the rest of the house slept on.

Maybe it is that silence today as I sit up sleepless, which brought to my mind the realisation of age, and the decade since his passing away….

What I do miss is not being able to share happy moments with him. I miss his laughter. Not very loud, but a very evident enjoyment of the joke, and of life itself. I miss the accounts of incidents that would be boring narrated by anyone but him.

We miss your humour and your laughter that lit up the room and our lives.
Happy birthday, Pappa.

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