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Writer's pictureCathie Rooyen

Dad 💔

My wait is over.


My dear dad died today around 1pm.


Why am I writing, you might be thinking? It helps me access parts of my mind and also focuses the thought into one logical process. Because my mind is kind of everywhere and moving at an alarming speed. Not that I need to be logical right now, but it's calming to write out sentences to describe what the noise in my head is.


I've been in this place before, as no doubt you- dear reader- have too.

The place of

Grief

It's desolate, lonely and achingly sore and no one nor no thing can do anything about it.

I realised, as I started sweeping my sister's kitchen floor while talking on the phone, that I suddenly become physically busy. I need to do things. I also need to write.


But today my sister brought out another soothing magic box of tricks, well not tricks but our families old photographs that she had taken from my dad a few years ago when he was wanting them gone.

Suddenly there was that smell...

Home.


Picture after picture tumbled out in no particular order, giving us both big smiles under our baggy eyes. A massive band aid slid onto our souls as we put together pictures of dad. Looking at his handsome young face, knowing how hard his life had been but experiencing the man that he was, was very therapeutic.

The young man who fathered seven of us, who together with my young mum took a huge risk by leaving behind everything familiar to live in sunny South Africa in the 1970s.



Twenty years later he faced his future without mum when she died suddenly and his smile dimmed for three years. At one point I was scared that he would go too. But he found love again with Gail and they moved to the coast. Sadly I couldn't see him as often due to the huge distance and a few years ago, his mind got lost in dementia.


I am extremely grateful for the opportunity that my adventure in Durban gave me the chance to be close. Seeing him on a weekly basis, seeing that he was well taken care of in his care home was indeed comforting to me. To know that he died with the people that knew this version of him the best is comforting.

But knowing that he had a great life and gave me the best life possible...

Is priceless.

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