Father’s Day

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I love this picture.  The lights look like spirits floating in the great Nothing, making a lot of light together.

Happy Father’s Day to all the Dads out there, for yesterday.

My own father, my children’s grandfather, was duly celebrated; but it was a tough Father’s Day, with our Daddy having made the ultimate sacrifice for his children and for me.

It is weird in how many old religions and folk tales the Father God or the God of the Harvest, or the God of the Hunt, always a male, paternal figure, lays down his life for his children.  Just, weird.  Is it an indelible part of the human male psyche?  (Mind, each of us was prepared to die for the others that night, as my son pointed out – only Daddy got there first.)

Daddy, we miss you.  We wish we hadn’t taken the wrong turn and ended in a universe of many parallels where we have to complete our paths without you.

We will see you again on the other side of the Door.  Until then, we will have to be content believing that you are here – with your great golden wings, a protector and spirit guide for the children, and my soulmate regardless if incarnate or not.

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13 thoughts on “Father’s Day

  1. Fathers’ Day is filled with mixed emotions when fathers are no longer with us. As with our little grandkids, where I have to try and substitute. There can never be one, really, though.
    Anyway, I hope you have a happy birthday!

  2. I was taken shopping for New Clothes … I should write a post.
    I loathe shopping!
    After vising Woollies, Mr Price, Edgars, Stutterfords and a couple other places I gave up, and we came home. I was fuming.
    All I wanted was an ordinary shirt and an ordinary pair of chinos.
    The quality was shocking, the fit dreadful, from everything from 200 bucks up to 500.
    It was so bad that I was politely asked: ”Maybe we could look at pants with elastic!” What!!! I have enough sweat pants thank you very much and I am not that old or that out of shape!
    Numerous inquiries of Woolies sales staff and endless scouring of racks upon racks turned up nothing but Made In China labels. With one exception – Made in Swaziland and it was a single pair and not my size!!
    It seems obvious that Chinese models must be anorexic men with pipe-cleaner legs, a non existent crotch region, and a backside flatter than a table
    What happened to Woolies?
    Intent on sorting this out and determined to find somewhere I could find an ordinary pair of pants, on arrival back home I stormed into my bedroom and pulled out my favorite pair of comfortable chinos that are goodness knows how old and were almost like a friend. They fitted like a glove and even when I put on a pound or two, were forgiving enough to remain comfortable to wear. These days they are sadly torn and not fit for anywhere but bumming around in the garden.
    They were bought by the wife many moons ago and she couldn’t remember from where

    Looking at the label I was mortified to see the words: Woolworths. Fine Tailoring. Made in South Africa.

    It’s the end of the civilized world I tell you!

    Happy Birthday.

  3. My own father is a memory. F-Day passed by, daze/doze, days are very long and nights short here in Scotland in mid-summer. We don’t do ‘days’ much in our family. But we ‘do’ each other. My own bereavements in the past now seem banal; I don’t know how I would cope if what I have now were suddenly removed, but birth and death are the most fundamental of biological imperatives. Much love to you, in the wake of the two notable days just gone by.

    • xxx Thank you, M. And it is true: Everyone dies at some point, one needs to keep that in mind and treasure those who one has not yet lost.

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