Today is a Year

A year without you, Dad.
A new reality
In my home, and heart.
A bag of clothes remains,
Upstairs, untouched.
I’ll know when I’m ready.
Not yet.


Christmas, New Year, Birthdays
All difficult, yes.
But harder still
Are the ordinary moments.
Your chair, your stories
Your cheery presence
And every experience
Is somehow altered.
And can still feel


I’ve seen you at the bus stop, Dad.
My head and heart
Still in conflict
Over what is real and longed for.
Does the heart ever relent?
I hope not.
I like to lean into the ache
Of a different story.
For a few moments,
At least.


I think I carry parts of you around, Dad.
The best parts, perhaps.
Your patience
Your tolerance.
The ability to offer others
Your time
And full attention.
I felt that gift.
I was shaped by it.
Thank you.


I loved you, Dad.
Your best laugh was one with no sound
Just a brilliant wheeze.
You were always so quick to say
Thank you,
You’re welcome,
Have some more.
I won’t forget how you lived.
With grace and gratitude.
And generosity.


I find God,
In my grief.
As deeply broken,
I am fiercely known.
There are no answers,
Or none that feel like enough.
There’s only trust.
And all I can do
Is live knowing
I know nothing.
And trust, anyway.


It’s important we go to a place
Near the water, with a wild wind
To walk
About who you were
And why you left.
About who we are
And why we remain
For life here, without you.


Today is a year.
A year without my dad.
A year of loss and lament.
And learning,
To sit with my sadness.
To unravel,
All that was certain.
And discover a grateful arrival to
And known.


2 thoughts on “Today is a Year

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