Categories
Post

Sadnesses…

I wrote this on the 21 March, but it did not publish…

Today it is two years since Dad died in my arms. It was in the very beginning of the morning after his birthday. I am in tears, perhaps for the first time since he died.

I cried many times before his death: in fear of losing him, mourning for the protraction of his illness, that I could no longer care for him at home, or that a visit had passed without him saying my name. He always knew me, the recognition never left his eyes, nor the twinkle of mischief in his humour.

I miss my Dad now, as a grown woman with a young adult daughter, more than I ever did when I was young. Young and travelling. Living abroad, working abroad. My time as a cook in Barcelona, in a conflict in the North of Ireland, tavelling the length and breadth of Sweden, driving a train over the Arctic…uni and working with recovering addicts in Southern California.

We take our loved ones for granted, when we need to be conveying our love, gratitude and appreciation for them. I missed my Dad so very much during my long spells in hospitals. I longed for him when I was terrified in operating theatres alone with strangers. And I long for him now, when I am alone because a wonderful man walked out of my life, and my daughter can never visit enough, or when my mind is filled with my soppy, happy dog who loved me without ceasing, gave me unconditional affection, playfulness, and whose death I cannot speak about. I need his comfort for death of Pamela, my sister, taken so suddenly by sepsis.

I yearn for the smell of my Dad’s neck, when he would carry me from bed to sofa, sofa to bed, a mixture of Condor tabacco, his aftershave and his skin. In those moments I never felt so safe. my Dad’s arms and neck, the beating of his heart, gave me safety.

y is two years since Dad died in my arms. It was in the very beginning of the morning after his birthday. I am in tears, maybe for the first time since he died. I cried many times before, in fear of losing him, in mourning for his protracted illness, that I could not have him at my home, that a visit had passed without him saying my name. He always knew me, that recognition never left his eyes, nor that twinkle of mischievous humour.
I miss my Dad now, as a grown woman with a young adult daughter, more than I ever did when I was young and travelling, living abroad, on holiday or whatever. We take our loved ones for granted, when we should be conveying our love, gratitude and appreciation. I missed my Dad very much when I was in hospital for such long spells. I longed for him when I was alone on the operating table, four times, terrified. And I long for him now, when I am broken hearted because of a wonderful man who walked in and out of my life, when I am longing for my daughter who has left home, or when my mind is filled with my happy, playful dog who gave me affection unconditionally and died too soon. And my older sister, taken suddenly by sepsis.
I long for the scent of my Dad’s neck, when he would carry me from bed to sofa and sofa to bed. A blend of Condor tabacco, his aftershave, and skin. I never felt so safe. My Dad made me safe.20You, Maggie Dumville, Micheál Ó Coinn and 17 others

By Chrisssie Morris Brady

I've read poetry since I was nine and have written creatively since I was fourteen (probably long before that). After writing book reviews and social comment, I decided I wanted to write poetry. I have no formal training, but I surround myself with poets and their writing. I am honing my craft.
I have two published collections which I don't feel good about, but have been published by madswirl.com and other publications. I live on the south coast of England with my daughter. I am seriously ill.

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.