On Sunday 2 September I braced myself for grief. From a few days before I knew what was coming. Six months since he took his final breath.
I lit all his candles, and I kneeled down in front of my photos, ‘the shrine’ to him. I was sad. As I spoke to him I shed a tear. But I didn’t feel the grief I expected.
You can’t plan for grief. It may not come on those days that you expect. It will hit you when you least expect. That is the lesson I learnt today.
As I stood in front of the cash machine, waiting for it to register my pin number I glanced around and noticed the sky. Sunshine and rain clouds. It could only mean one thing – a rainbow was lurking somewhere nearby. A moment of joy, soon I will see my rainbow… soon I will see my daddy. And then only a moment later reality, reality. A cuddle from above cannot compare to feeling of a true parental embrace; a comforting cuddle, a loving hand. A rainbow can’t talk back. An overwhelming paralysing sense of grief and realisation.
It’s not because he is away on business that I haven’t seen him for a while. It’s not because I’ve moved out of the parental home that I don’t talk to him as much anymore. When I go home to visit family he won’t be there.
I said goodbye on 12 March 2012. I held his hand one last time and I kissed his forehead. I won’t see his loving, reassuring, caring face again. When I speak to him, I’ll never hear his reply. Such an incomprehendable thought that it’s surprisingly easy to cope on a day to day basis because it’s too much to believe, but then every now and again the realisation hits…. and it hurts.
I love his signs, they give me such strength, positivity and faith through such a difficult experience. But I love him more, and nothing can comfort me more than his embrace and his magical words that just always seem to be right.
