Friday, 31 July 2020

Book 4, Letter 8, To My Father, Peter Taubert, Two days have passed since your death.





Dear Dad,

You died on Tuesday morning. You were having another seizure. I came to see you in the afternoon and I found your body in your bed. Cold. Stiff. You were long gone. The body seemed empty. I tell you this in case you are currently a wandering ghost, lost, confused. I know how the seizures disoriented you. When I found your body, I called out to you, I reached out and touched your cheek. I held your shoulder and shook you, but you did not wake.

I stepped outside and called 000

Wren was with me, waiting in the car, reading. I sat with him and told him that you had died. We cried for a while, talking a little bit, then Wren suggested we listen to the song “My Grandfather's clock”, so we sat together, listening in silence, waiting.

After so many years of waiting for this moment, it still came as a surprise. There was no lingering hospital bed decay, no dramatic last moments for us to say our goodbye's. On Monday you were here, vibrant, laughing. On Tuesday you were gone.

It's Thursday night as I write this. I have cried a lot, caught unawares by sudden outpourings of emotion. I don't have words to describe these waves of salt water that pour out of me. Grief, I am learning quickly, is a complex mixture of feelings that command the body, mind and heart. I don't know what's really happening to me, but I am changing.

Your sudden departure is like a magnesium flare, and our lives are illuminated in the light of your now complete life story. I have your private journal, 600 pages of diary transcripts and personal notes. I have your collected poetry, 78 pages of previously unread verse. In just two days I have already learned things that you never spoke about. Our secrets have secrets. Father, you and I are so alike.

I can't write more today. My heart still races and my thoughts are crowded, cluttered. I love you. I I love you today, I loved you yesterday, and I will love you tomorrow. Wherever you have gone, I wish you well.

I will write again soon.

With gratitude and respect.

Morgan













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