Don’t stop the clocks.

Let the phone ring,

Let the dogs play with their bones,

Let the pianos play.

He was none of my compass points, never my song…

My stars were never his, nor my moonlight nor my sun.

Everything is good.


Yesterday, my father died.

That sounds so big.


He has gone.


And yet… there’s nothing.

I feel no loss, I feel no rage. I feel a slight wistfulness for what could have been.

But he has gone.


In his passing I find no relief, no joy, no gleaming new silver to my world.

It just… is.

He has gone.


There have been calls from relatives who abandoned us long ago. There will possibly be more calls, letters, messages;
Sadly all rather meaningless, now there’s no choice to make, no actions to be called into responsibility for.

It’s just not that easy.


I have my husband, and my children.

I have my sister. I have my brother.

I have my friends.

They, they, are all my sun, moon and stars; my compass points, my working week and Sunday rest.

He has gone.


And I am not mourning him.

death of a father