Today would have been my Father’s 105th birthday! He was born 1907, but died, sadly enough, when he was only fifty, and I was two.
The other day, when we went to Oromocto, to see our friends, I shot this outside the coffee shop. It looked a little unusual, totally stripped of everything — otherwise I was never drawn to motorcycles. Perhaps because my Father died on one.
Growing up without a father probably defined me as a person … perhaps more than I’m aware of, but life takes its turns and we’ll never know what it would have been like otherwise.
I’ve always felt a great sadness though, when thinking about that I never knew him. I only know what other people have told me — which honestly isn’t all that much! I look at the photo I have and see my own eyes … it feels a little strange, still … after all these years.
When I was, perhaps, close to forty, I asked my Mum how long time she was off work when my Father’d died. She stopped to think, as it was such a long time ago, and said ‘maybe three, four days?!’ ‘Wow’, I said … ‘did that really give you enough time to deal with the mourning properly?” She looked at me as if I came from a different planet. Discussing inner feelings wasn’t really her kettle of fish. Hence, perhaps, I know so little. There are times when I feel I didn’t really know her either.
On a brighter note … on the same trip, we also saw this beauty:
It’s almost midnight. I usually write these blog posts in the morning. Slept a little bit longer than usual this morning — woke up 08:02. Could have slept even longer but as the clock radio showed my date of birth, I thought perhaps that was a sign I should get out of bed! 🙂