Today marks seven years since my Dad passed away. And I miss him.
He used to have this funny whistle, which Mum is still known for today, that he would use on our infrequent visits to “town”. Dunedin was the destination every time we needed to do a big shop but Dad wasn’t interested in following Ruthie and four girls around the cash registers. We’d be walking down the street and hear that whistle and stop and look for him. There he would be, leaning against the old Holden Kingswood or a doorway, smoke in hand.
My kids have become attuned to the whistle too now – I can walk into a room unseen and give a little whistle and both kids will look up, looking for me. It’s seriously cute.
He also smiles at me in my office every day – one of my favourite photos from his 60th at Edievale, cigar in hand. Our photo gallery in the hall sees him on the motorbike looking down at The Glen – one with green grass and one with snow. There’s one of him with a stock agent in a paddock that was used in a Wrighties calendar and a very stern one with the whole family in costume during a trip to Shantytown or something similar.
Rest in peace Pop. You’re not forgotten.
rivettingKateTaylor 
The initial grief fades but I’m not sure you ever stop missing people you love.
It’s 10 years since my father died (not today) and 8 since my mother died and I still want to ask them things and talk to them.
By: homepaddock on October 4, 2009
at 7:59 pm