#8 On Being Moved 🧡
Dad poetry.
August 2024
[Content note: This text includes reflections on the loss of a parent. If this subject feels heavy or difficult for you, you may want to approach with care or decide to skip this section.]
August carries an intense weight. August is heavy. August, 19 years ago, was the first time I consciously said goodbye to someone - a prepared farewell, yet still so difficult. I explored different ways to find a more fitting word for someone, but in the end...
Dad. ‘Paps.’
Dad was a collector. Dad was a foodie. Dad was a music explorer. Dad was a tinkerer.
Pens, always plenty of pens. And the surprise egg chocolates - those were a small joy, their little figures still tucked away on shelves at my mom’s now. I spent hours with dad, roaming supermarket aisles, the two of us lost in the simple rhythm of it. Dad introduced me to The Beatles, Janet Jackson, and so much more. Dad was always building, fixing - his soldering iron never far from reach. Those memories, filled with small things.
These days, memories fade.
I can no longer remember my dad’s voice. It is like it slipped away while I was not looking. Last time I was home, my mom and I tried to dig it up again from an old answering machine on our landline. We thought maybe we could catch it there, just one more time. But the cassette would not play. We had to let the idea go, dad’s voice go.
These days, memories appear.
But his voice still finds its way through, in the things he used to say. There is this one phrase… I had to check if is maybe a saying lodged in my mind. I asked my mom too, just to be sure. Dad would say it now and then, something he would toss out to settle the chaos:
Wenn die Zeiten schwer sind, lass uns zum Mond gehen und Sonnenblumen pflücken. - Paps
When times are tough, let’s go to the moon and pick sunflowers. - Dad
There is something comforting in how his voice stays with me. It surfaces when it needs to, like a memory knowing its own timing. I needed it to appear. And the fact that I can share this small story now, carry it with me. It is like navigating a belief in something you cannot quite touch but somehow know is there.
Dad, I’ve been feeling the need to visit the moon more regularly these days. I am coming to realise that this is okay though. I think you would get it. And perhaps, someone else might find a trace of comfort in that, too.
'On Being Moved’ is a monthly series of exploring and expressing observations and thoughts - through both written and visual formats. Not sure yet of its direction, however each step forward is a step 'on being moved'. Welcome ♥