Absence is weighing heavy today.
There have been many quiet tears.
Walking the dog along the front earlier I suddenly had a vivid memory of my dad in the mortuary. Of realising they were bringing him to us in the cold, marble chapel and that I would have no choice whether to go into a viewing room with Mum and his partner or, as I expected I would, to stay outside. Of the doors from the mortuary opening and of hearing myself gasp ‘My daddy’ as I saw him.
His partner was confused why he was so cold, and so still.
He looked so... Him. My daddy. I wanted to hold him, but feared the chill stillness where there had always been a warm hug.
A kind orderly in scrubs brought us wine glasses and a bottle of fizzy water, and nodded gently while I tearfully thanked him in a language that was not his own.
I thought I was fine with it.