In two days time it is the 50th anniversary of the death of my wife’s father – two days after Father’s Day. My wife was seven years of age at the time. She and her older sister had been modelling their mother’s newly made children’s dresses at a department store competition that day.
Three days, Fifty years
Did we sit around him as he unwrapped his present
Did we help pull off the wrapping?
A wall lamp for his bed.
Did all five of us have an afternoon snooze
On the double bed, before a stroll around Norlane?
Did we throw our skinny little arms around him
That Fathers Day?
Monday, school holidays
Did we help him
Hand him the tools from the wooden box
As he mounted the lamp on the wall?
Did we dance around him in the backyard
Chewing on a carrot from the garden?
Did we snuggle close as he had a cigarette
on the porch
Did we watch Mama together
As she put the finishing touches on our dresses?
Did we squeal with excitement on our return
With our prizes?
While he cuddled Christine into the fold of his arm
Did we say goodbye?
He is gone.
1-3 September, 2013
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