Five years have passed since that morning; the morning the phone rang too early; the morning we raced in convoy across the South Downs praying we weren’t too late; the morning the rising sun was too beautiful – too gentle. The morning everything changed…
It still hurts like it did that morning, yet I’m able to cry more freely now than ever I was then. Whosoever said it gets better chose their words badly. There’s nothing better about it – just different.
I remember that you used to talk about your parents – my grandparents – for years after they’d died; those special moments; those wonderful family times. Their names prompted a toast nearly as often as the ones of those celebrating. And I loved you for it; for your undying love for them. But I never quite understood.
Yet now I do.
And now I do the same.
And not out of respect for you. But out of an undying love that places you still at the heart of things, where you and mum always were.
I miss you, dad.
I miss you every day.
Sometimes I miss you so much that my heart breaks all over again.
But that’s love for you.
And someone once said that grief is just love with nowhere to go. And in a funny kind of way, that sentiment makes the pain a little easier.
For perhaps if I’m still grieving, I’m also still loving.
And love was never anything to be sad about.