I awoke with such a startle; eyes as wide as saucers sitting bolt up right in bed. The sun had not even begun to peek through the curtains. Dad returns home from night shift around 5 am and Steve, my beloved brother would not be long on his way for day shift. If I could wake long enough and get out of bed, I joined Dad in an early morning cup of tea. Just Dad and I it was so quiet and peaceful. I loved this time of day. Dad would take me back to bed and happily I'd snuggle down into the foetal position, falling into a deep slumber.
Though I was his Adopted Daughter, I knew no different. I was Daddy's girl.
During the summer months we would spend our time in the back yard. A yard full of the most exotic fruit trees ever seen. There was an abundance of apples, oranges, peaches and nectarines, just to mention a few. Undercover of the old fruit trees I would sit happy as a pig in poo and play for hours. When Dad was not closely watching over me, Rex, our beloved pet Labrador was. Dad loved to work in the shed, tinkering around with woodwork or fiberglass. He would sit me on the bench and tell me stories. I would study every line of his weathered face, the tattoo's on his strong arms telling tales in pictures of time spent in the Army. At night it was Dad who carried me to bed, tucked me in gave me a good night Kiss. “He will be taking you to bed till you’re 21” teased my Mother. I was 11 and his little princess.
There was something unusual about this morning. Excepting for the quiet murmurs of strained voices, there was nothing but total darkness. I sprung out of bed rubbing my eyes, forcefully trying to awaken myself. Mum was in one of her panics and mumbling something about finding her purse. I followed to the kitchen. "We got a call from Dads work we are going into the hospital.
"Is he ok?"
“yes he is fine, just an accident".
The drive to Flinders Medical centre was deathly quiet.
"So what can you tell me about your husband" the Doctor asked Mum.”What do you mean what can I tell you about him, how is he?"
"He's Dead".
After the shock passed we identified the body, the body? He’s my Dad not a body. We were escorted into a tiny curtained off room, so cold, so sterile. A peculiar stench burned the lining of my nostrils, a stench that till this day I vividly recall. There was Dad, lying on a gurney. His shirt had been cut open where the Ambo’s had frantically tried to get his heart started again, a white sheet was pulled up to the top of his belly button, his right arm was exposed out to the side with his hand still clutching tightly onto the cold steel railing. He looked as though he was having a nap.
"Least I will never have to cut his hair again" said Mum gently caressing his forehead. By the time we got home the sun had well and truly risen. But there were no birds singing today, no laughter of kookaburras, just the bleakness of the dark cold winter.
Daddy was cremated. Though I don’t remember much of the day, I do recall people spilling out of the chapel onto the pavement outside. I kept all the little cards that were attached to bunches of flowers. I kept them in a tired old shoe box under my bed. Every night I pulled out my little box of cards and read all the wonderful words wrote about Dad. I wonder what happened to my shoe box.
Kookaburra's Flight
The Kookaburra’s laughter enhanced
the searing morning light,
as rays of amber beams appear
through window bright, I yawn.
I stretch I rub my eyes and
descend from child slumber I arise but
find today’s sun obscured by
gloomy skies.
Words ring loud, I covet my ears,
bewildered and confused
gripped by an arresting fear.
"Daddy’s never coming home again, my dear"
the kookaburra takes to flight.
For in this winter’s dreary haze I hibernate
from tempest hail,
and long for summers warm relief, but fear,
summers passed by this year.
Kookaburra to never laugh, again.
My Dad, Jack and I
Yes, sadly this is how it happened. It was very cruel and callous. In his defence he did say he thought she already knew. Still damage done. xoxo
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