oh daddy, my daddy

Do you know where that comes from? ‘Oh daddy, my daddy!’ cries Bobby in the Railway Children, when she finally sees her father getting off the train.  I’ve felt like crying that too in the last few months as I try to come to terms with the loss of my father.

Just before Christmas, on the 20th of December, he died after three weeks in hospital.DSC_0091

At the time, I wrote to friends:

After coming up to be with us for a break, he got very ill and did not really show signs of recovering.  It was very sad to see him so restricted – he was very keen just to go home.
We have a great assurance that he is now home and released from all the ways his body failed him.  He fought the good fight, he finished the race, he kept the faith. For him, in the words of one his favourite writers:  “The term is over: the holidays have begun. The dream is ended: this is the morning.”  (C. S. Lewis, The Last Battle)
While I remain convinced that this is true, the loss is still huge, the gap in our lives very tangible.  I’ve spent the last couple of days going through my Dad’s things: papers, shirts, shoes, magazines, letters, socks, pens, reading glasses, books, books and books.  What a strange mess of things he has left behind yet I still find in them something of the essence of who he was.

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I started blogging after the birth of my first child. Since I stopped working, I realise I am defined far more by my relationships than by what I do. So, I am: wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend.

One thought on “oh daddy, my daddy”

  1. oh amy – there are never words. just groans of the spirit. it’s strange isn’t it, what makes up a life – shirts and pens and books…the small quotidien of living.

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