Pops

My dad is dying.

I am helpless to his health,

Just a voyeur on this journey of his.

This bear of a man who held my hand in his.

Who daubed my cheeks with shoe polish and snuck me down the fields to watch the badgers at sunset.

Always a grizzly, later; a silverback.

Now, just a tiny bird, in bed – whose limbs are so frail they barely work…anymore.

This man who distrusted every boy I ever bought before him.

Whose anger and wrath, and love, and sorrow…I have felt to the seed of my soul

Splintering and shattering every single, tiny, piece…then tugging me all anew, with those simple words: I love you Han.

Tarmac – that dark treacle, clinging, black forest was his making…and his breaking.

My dad.

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9 thoughts on “Pops

  1. Han, just read this….. beautiful. Hugest hugs and love during this heart-renchingly difficult journey beside him. xx

  2. Oh Han my love, my heart pours out to you and your family. I will pray for your dear father of whom I too have fond memories x

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