Monday, August 16, 2010
On Saturday, 14th August, my father passed away. I was not there as the day before was Freja's fifth birthday and we were celebrating her in 'Tivoli Frihed', which is a fairground park in Århus. It was incredibly hard to maintain an equilibrium between the pleasure of my daughter's happiness and the abject sorrow of my Father's death. Luckily, my father's girl friend and two of his best friends were present when he passed.
I feel some what lost, raw, cut to the quick, and I miss his voice. The sound of him. His sense of humour. Life suddenly feels all that more precious. In some respects I am an orphan now, but that doesn't scare me as much as it saddens me. Those two people, with all their strange thoughts and feelings. The idea's they had, the love they bore. They're gone forever now and the memory of them is suddenly so very, very precious.
If there is one piece of music which represents my Father more than any other, then its probably Johnny Cash singing 'Sunday Morning Coming Down'. My Dad used to play this on Sunday mornings, really loud and I hated it. I can't listen to it now at all, but here it is anyway.