At my dad's funeral, I didn't know what to say. I didn't know how to get up and talk about him and how much i'd miss him. So I wrote him a letter (this one) and read it out.
Today it's been two years since he passed away. Two years since I was able to call and talk to him. To hear his voice, his laugh. To get his advice.
There are so many things I miss about him and the reminders I have of him are all around. Most of the time it's music. He loved music. It was in his soul.
I remember so many times over the years, my mum, my sisters and I would come home from being out in the evening. Probably some school thing, or mum picking us up from work. We knew dad was home but the house was all dark. How could we tell he was home? It was the music blasting down the road. We lived on acreage and so had a long driveaway with neighbours not close by and even at a distance from the house we could hear the music.
And there my daddy would be. Lying on the couch in the living room, eyes closed. Just singing to the music. I didn't like turning on the light because I knew how much he loved just feeling the music.
|The last photo we have together, about 3 weeks before he passed away.|