Love, when you lose your Dad

Brian Kenneth Rathbone
RIP May 13, 2010


There’s no way, I tell you, to quite describe
The void that’s left when your Daddy dies.
The clocks still tick, the noise goes on,
But deep inside the music’s gone.

You sit, you reflect, then you try to hear
His giant laughter from somewhere upstairs;
But all you get is a silent hole,
A space in your head with no sound at all.

Then quick as a flash you hit rewind
On the giant old film inside your mind
Which flickers and whirs and fills your head
With pictures and images of him instead.

Accepting he’s gone is like swallowing grit
Your mouth is all dry and lacking of spit
As hard as you try the lump won’t go away
The pain’s still there day after dark day

You’re smart and you’re clever and ever so bright
You know death can’t possibly chew up the light
Of your love for your Mum, your siblings three
Your children, your friends and family.

But how can it be that this huge black ball
Can feel like it’s pushing out love of them all?
You see them, you love them; that it is clear
So what’s with the emptiness prompting this fear?

For inside each one no matter how old
Is a small little child who won’t be consoled;
It cries and it frets and wrestles with sleep,
Eating, not eating, rebelling to weep.

Soothe then the child with a grown-up voice,
Give it some boundaries to express its loss.
Then tighten the saddle and jump back on:
This life’s to be lived and lived full on!

I tell you this now, I have made up my mind
To burst this black bubble, this poison maligned!
I’ll fill up the space with the best of the best
Faith, family, friends: the great 3 “F’s.”

Because love conquers all, of that I am sure
I’ve seen it succeed including post war;
Both God and my Daddy have said it to me
“On love it is built, my family.”

Cath Rathbone, May 13, 2010