Where is my Dad?

31 May 1949 - 27 March 2023

As I survey this new land of shifting sand I ask: where is my guiding monolith? My El Capitan; my Eiger; my Everest and Elbrus; my reassuring rock of ages; my steadfast and stubborn stone. Where is my Dad? Where is our Papa, our Nick?

Time takes all things, but the moments we share will always have been. We carry these memories with us and there my Dad lives on. So I won't say goodbye but I will say, thank you, Dad.

Thank you, for your fire and fight within; your loyalty and laughter; your steely stubborn strength; and your reassuring council.

I will miss your conversation with all and any, at the Cossies Cafe on Crown. I will even miss your jokes and your formal jeans and sandles.

So for all thank yous said and unsaid, and for all you'd generously do, Dad, Doctor, Nick and Papa, we remember you.

My old man

In the silence I ask myself, where have the old men gone? Dad, Nev, Bruce and Tom, where have all the old men gone? Are they at the pub somewhere? I know Dad is there for I can hear him, telling tall tales and singing songs. Those old men all watch and cheer together, as the Wallabies reschool New Zealand (sorry Marg). My Dad is even called upon to convert the final try. With spry young legs and red locks of hair, my Dad wins that test match. And he wins again and again, in replay with his trusty old TV remote (he found that again). Yes, surely that is where my father's gone, and there he waits with beer and chair for us all.

So you see, my father is not buried here, he lives on in Ziggy, Matilda, Sam and all of us here today. This tree is like a WiFi router and not the only one, for we carry Papa's memory with us and it's strong when we're together. His memory is a binding glue that can make us strong together.

The silence

The sound of passing cars, like ocean waves on shore, the pitter patter of puppy paws up the hall, while my dog snores. Children play and magpie sings, as an old steam train whistles on its way. This is some of what I hear. But mostly I hear the silence my father used to fill, as I listen for sounds that are missing and the echoes of a laughter that once was, once.


Goodbye Dad. Goodbye for all the birthday, Christmas and Father's days to come. Goodbye for all the dinners, brunches, lunches, conversations and memories we'll miss. Goodbye, Dad...

And now Dad, here you'll join my dream, out there in the never, never.