The empty space

I tried doing this post for Fathers Day, but couldn't find the photo in time... so, a week late...

Last year we had an inorganic rubbish collection and, amongst other things, my flatmate put out Dad's concrete mixer, which he'd inherited. It was old - rusty - pretty nearly unworkable. I thought I'd better get a photo of it, so I could scrapbook it - and all the memories that went along side it. Hearing it go meant Dad was at home, working. Many hours I spent down by Dad's workshop as a little kid, watching, mucking around. There was a period when Dad would put swirls of paint into water in the wheelbarrow and I'd make marbled paper. The concrete mixer was one of the sounds of home.

So, out I went to take a photo, only... there was an empty space.

I was upset that I'd missed the opportunity. Then realised how much more symbolic it was. A photo of the empty space where the concrete mixer had been.

A symbol of the emptiness where Dad had been. How grateful I am that there were no missed opportunities with Dad. That he had been dying for a period that allowed (most of) us to make sure he knew we loved him. That we'd had a chance to be with him. To laugh and to cry. And to share.

As always Dad, I miss you and love you.