That cold empty ache, like I couldn’t catch my breath even though I was breathing normally, filled my chest, spreading into my head and stomach.
The severity seemed to come out of nowhere, out of proportion. I was on the last half mile to work, thinking about writing a response to an old poem as I waited for the last set of lights to change, when my calm logic and hopeful thoughts were washed away and replaced with this void, this ache.
And I felt again the awfulness of the loss of my dad.
I just longed for him to be here still.
When my mum died, for a long time I knew exactly how long it had been, down to the week; once I even counted the number of days and hours since her passing. But with my dad it was different, timescale vaguer, as if I had become slightly immunised against grief.
So I was caught unawares by this feeling.
I just wanted him here again. I wanted his smile to twinkle at me in some shared mischief. I wanted the bristle of his moustache as he kissed me. I wanted to knock on his door and hear one of his welcoming catchphrases. I wanted to climb on his lap, lean my head on his shoulder, and feel his strong arms protecting me from the overwhelming world outside and in.
Most of all, I felt the sheer lack of him.
That’s not the end of the story, not a complete a picture of my life or even my day, I know. I could tell you of the Heavenly Father who is always present to me, who my earthly one pointed me towards. I could tell you of the wonderful others in my life who echo my dad so I am never without that manly love.
But for those few minutes, as the lights changed to green and I drove up the hill to the car park, continued through the barrier to my spot, until I stepped out of my car to start my working day, for those few minutes, I just missed him.
(Linking up to the weekly inspiration and shared writing @ https://fiveminutefriday.com/2019/04/11/fmf-writing-prompt-link-up-lack/)